A Million to One
by BilliMonroe
Summary: Bonnie's suspicion puts Damon first in a way that no one ever cared to. They hate each other. They save each other. And really, it just makes sense. But when a new threat brings Dean back to her, the chances of all three surviving are a million to one...
1. Bad Romance

**A/N: **So for anyone who is just signing on to this story, this is a sequel of another Supernatural/Vampire Diaries crossover called _A Million Ways to Send Me to Hell. _So, if you haven't read it yet, read it first. Because it's really more fun that way, Although I'll try to write this in a way that give you plenty insight so that you won't have to. Okay, now this story deals with something that has recently happened in the sixth season of Supernatural (although I write it in a way that is totally different from the real episode so as not to give any spoilers away). It was just too hot for me to resist, and ironically, it fit the precontrived synopsis to this story perfectly.

**Disclaimer: **TVD and Supernatural are the works of L.J. Smith, Kevin Williamson, and Eric Kripke. Sadly, I had nothing to do with that (nor was I allowed into the trailers of any of the male actors, yet, lol). But the interwevings of this plot belong to me. Now, let's get on with it shall we?

**"He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster..."**

**-Friedrich Nietzsche**

BAD ROMANCE

Bonnie's POV

Mornings in Mystic Falls never really felt like morning. Even before finding out that it could no longer protect against vampires—or that there were vampires to begin with—I could never be considered a fan of daylight. To me, it always felt like an intrusion jilting me away from dreams of freedom with its blinding rays and promise to resume yesterday's worries. Sure, I would plaster on a fake smile as I followed the rest of the world in its daily routine of breakfast preparation, showering, and dental hygiene, but I was just doing what I had to, going through the motions expected of me when I all I really wanted was to be somewhere else. Mainly asleep. However, for nearly a decade, dawn had taken on more of an "Ain't No Sunshine" type of feel that made me glad for the room's black walls and equally opaque curtains.

That morning I rolled over onto the silk black sheets that lay stuck to my slick, soaking wet skin and forced myself not to make a sound despite the fact that my lungs were about to burst. Because I knew that he was watching me. Always watching. Ironically, the scene wasn't that much different from the first time that I lay in his bed soaked to the core in a cold mixture of bathwater, blood, and sweat, devoid of action and words, albeit his inconsiderate attempts to rouse an insult from me.

**-THEN-**

"Mind telling me why I found you lying underwater last night, trying to kill yourself? Especially given how yesterday's deadly intervention ended with me covered in my slutty conniving bitch of an ex-girlfriend's blood, thereby entitling me with the pleasure of causing your untimely death. You know, since it was at your hands, and all." The part of me that hadn't drowned the previous night wanted to remind him that he didn't have girlfriends, just meals and obsessions, but it was silenced by the sight of him staggering in front of an open window with his black shirt hanging open. He sneered at the empty tumbler rattling with ice in his shaky hands and threw it to the far corner, finding solace at the bottom of a golden bottle before turning back to stare at the sunrise. That's right! The sun was just starting to rise, and Damon already reeked of alcohol and sarcasm.

I slowly turned my head and became hypnotized by the glowing fireplace where embers shot up like firecrackers. Truth be told, I had no intentions of ignoring Damon, who grew more and more agitated as the clock ticked away my silence. I was just stuck in my own thoughts of nothing and finding them much more interesting than him at that moment. I sank back onto the damp sheets, not even bothering to pull up the blankets. The air around me felt plenty warm and I wasted no time burrowing inside of myself, liking the quiet solitude.

"Cat got your tongue?" he belligerently hiccupped to the window, "I said. Why. Were. You. Trying. To. Kill. Yourself?" His words echoed in my head, making it pound despite their hushed tone. He thought he knew. Damon always thought he had me figured out, but in reality, I hadn't been trying to drown myself. I had simply succumb to the weight of a depression that seduced me into fiending for the bloody water's soft ripples. It was only when fully covered, did the idea of never coming up for air occur. _Is it even humanly possible to drown oneself? _I had asked in passing. _Who cares? _Another voice—male—answered, _You're not human anyway. You're evil._ The two voices cut through the dead air in my head that morning while Damon questioned me, battling each other again on whether one could smother herself with a pillow.

"Dammit, Witch!" Damon landed on top of me and snatched the pillow away from my face, "What the—Bonnie! You're—"

"Damon, I told you to stay away from her!" The younger Salvatore ripped his brother away from me, causing the two to slam against the corner wall littered with melting ice and broken glass. Neither brother felt the piercing shards as Damon forcefully shoved Stefan away, only to be pushed backward again.

"She's burning up, Stefan!" I lay there in a scalding state of paralysis; their noise that was hard to tune out, amplified to near deafening decibels that made my already aching limps hurt worse. Had the circumstances been different, the turn of events might have been funny: two vampires unknowingly causing more pain to someone by arguing about the cause of said pain.

"And you had to sit on top of her to take her temperature?" Stefan cocked one eyebrow at Damon while momentarily uncrossing his arms in order to gesture to me. "Bonnie used up a lot of magic saving _your life_; therefore, she's a bit overheated. And if anyone needs to cool off, Damon, it's you. There are two women in this house who need to be nursed back to health, so none of us have time for whatever tantrum you're planning on throwing." Damon, who had obviously been mixing blood into his scotch ever since the Katherine ordeal, was back to being the self-proclaimed "stronger brother," using this new-found strength to push past Stefan and lean against a mahogany post on the tall and gothic four poster canopy.

"And her being all mopey is my fault how?"

"She lost the love of her life saving us. Saving you! And if you weren't so selfish, perhaps it would do you well to thank her, instead of mocking."

"Right," Damon's clearer speech signified a type of soberness that he didn't seem to be content with, if the bitterness in his voice was any indication, "I forgot. Saint Stefan is the only one who can feel concern. The witch needed me, and I saved her life last night! She should be thanking me. " The younger vampire shook his head in disbelief, walking toward the door in search of Elena's voice drifting through the intercom—Stefan had installed the intercoms the night before, once it was determined that Elena and I would be recuperating at the boarding house—connecting Damon's room to his room in the manor's east wing. The elder Salvatore followed closely behind, "And you should be happy, Stefan, because my new goal in life," he stopped in the doorway to look back in my direction, "is to make her admit it."

**-NOW-**

It was coming. The throaty, tired question always came about a moment after we did, "Are you ready to admit that you need me now, Bon Bon?" My ears cringed at the nickname—one that I had repeatedly asked him not to call me—but I hated his question even more.

"There's nothing to admit, Damon. Can't you just be grateful with what you have?" He rolled on top of me, holding himself up with hands placed at each of my sides.

"Funny of you to bring up my lack of frugality. Weren't you the one, just minutes ago, screaming," he strategically slid one of his hands up my thigh, resting painfully close to the place where my femoral artery would be while his mouth planted itself onto my jaw line in order to emphasize each of his words with a tiny nip, "More. More. Oh. God. Damon. More!" The last word coincidently landed him on my neck's pulse point.

"Bite me!" The realization of what I had just said dawned on me a beat after the half insult/half moan was uttered. As well as the realization that he would take it as an invitation and not what it truly was: a verbal attack. Statements like this held an unfortunate irony in our relationship that, after seven years, I still wasn't going to rectify.

He and I had a complicated arrangement to say the least. One that was constantly evolving from a mutual understanding: I couldn't trust him to be alone, and he couldn't function being that way, to a stress reliever that kept us going. Everywhere we looked, eyes crossed in disapproval, and I had greatly understood their contempt, Caroline's especially.

"You can do so much better than _Demon_," she spat at me over manicures with Elena during our senior prom pamper session six years ago, "You letting that…_thing_…abuse you is not like you. What would your hottie ex think?" Elena silently stared between us. She'd never met Dean, but it didn't take long for me to catch her up on how he had stormed into town and my life, swept me up in a haze, and then broke my blackened heart to pieces once he'd seen the real me. It also didn't take her long to realize that I am…was…_was_ still…well that's a story best kept in the past.

But I had taken Caroline's fury, because I silently felt the same way. I did deserve more than just a life wasted on babysitting a vampire. I deserved a life unmarred by the supernatural period. Only, she had gotten it all wrong. We may have grown closer than I'd expected, but the one thing that I hadn't—and still refuse to—let him do was abuse, better referred to as feeding off of, me.

Not that he hadn't tried every chance he got. Sometimes he tried by force. Other times he tried by seduction. But he always tried, and I always denied. See, a witch's blood, Stefan and I had found out seven years ago, carries her powers over to her drinker. For instance, after feeding Stefan, he not only had my powers of perception and telepathy, we were also mentally linked. For weeks, he'd maintained a vampire-witch combined state that no amount of spell binding could cure. There are times even now, when I could feel him in my thoughts. We shared "A bond that can only be broken by letting the 'kindred spirit' feed," the grimoire had read. There was no telling what or whom it had meant, still, whatever it meant, I sure wasn't willing to let Damon anywhere near my blood to find out.

"I thought you'd never ask," Damon slurred around a set of razor sharp fangs. Hearing those words must have been heaven to him, but it was as close as I imagined he'd ever get to it, for in the next instant, I cut my eyes and sent him flying across the room.

"I may have gotten accustomed to excusing a lot of things where vampires are concerned: living with them and sleeping with them, to name a few, but the one thing that I will never do," I walked over to the naked, seething vampire and roughly grabbed his chin, "is let one of you bloodsucking leaches feed from me."

Once again, it was a promise I thought that I could keep. Just like the vows I'd made to discontinue the use of my powers and stay as hateful toward Damon as possible. That was before though. Before I knew of the curse. Before they asked me to be the cure. Before Damon sought redemption. I'd made those promises: to keep both my veins and heart closed, before the storm blew back in and made the chances of keeping them a million to one.


	2. HEART OF STONE

**A/N: **Thank you to everyone who has added _A Million to One_ to his and her favorites and alerts: **chantall214**, **veronicamars101**, , **BloodStreamOnFire **(so glad to have you back!). **TheSouthernScribe**, you were the first one to pick up on the fact that Bonnie has (or at least will have) an issue on her hands by using Damon in order to mask her feelings. We all know that ignoring ones problems only makes them bigger and leads to trouble. Now, this chapter will delve into how Dean's been holding up in the past seven years. Also, **wolfgurlwriter1725**, thank you for subscribing and reviewing the last chapter. I hope that the story lives up to your satisfaction.

**Disclaimer: **Many of the names dropped in this chapter belong to the series' creators to which both shows' characters belong. However, none of them (that I know of) are in any kind of danger. This is all just part of the interworkings of my mind. So let's get with it, shall we?

HEART OF STONE

Dean's POV

Lawson Road was just your average suburban street: perfectly manicured lawns, pies sitting on the window sill, and Stepford Wife-type families coming and going to their nine to fives without a care in the world. Even the damn teenagers, who should have been concerned with sneaking their parents' booze and trying to cop a feel from the neighborhood skank, treated each other with a semblance of decency that I still had yet to master. Sammy and I sat in the front seat of the Impala, where we'd been posted outside of a three story Victorian house with blue siding and white trim since 12am this morning, watching as neighborhood kids tramped off of a fancy charter buses as if the weathered school busses that regular Joes rode were a disgrace to this goddamned community.

Two wrestler types laughed about teachers and text messages—seriously what the hell ever happened to passing notes?— while holding onto two equally predictable blond cheerleaders wearing red and white uniforms that stopped at the knee. Which was a complete waste if you asked me. Next off of the bus was a smaller kid, probably a freshman. Real wimpy looking kid who probably could have benefitted from a real ass kicking. Knock the nerd right out of him and prepare him for a world of pain and humiliation, because that's exactly what he'd get if he continued to lust after broads that were as out of his league as the next chick who stepped off of the bus. She was a tall and busty brunette with hair that fell wild and wavy down to her hips. Her red lips curled up into a smirk when one of the boys let go of his cheerleader girlfriend in order to catch up to the baby porn star. She was hot, I won't lie. And if I had been just a tad younger…but she already had her hands full. I had to give it to her, though, she juggled more balls on this street than a clown in the circus. Even the other wrestler, who stayed by his girlfriend and tried to console her distraught friend, periodically glanced over the curve where the brunette's ass hugged her tight skin-colored jeans.

Beside me, Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat, fixing his newspaper over his eyes so that he wouldn't get caught staring at the girl like the creepy middle aged pervert that he couldn't admit he was.

"Nothing wrong with staring at a chick like that, Sammy," he scoffed and fixed his mouth to scold me for the millionth time since we'd decided to stake this neighborhood out on how inappropriate my comments were, but I beat him to the punch, "Relax Officer Morality. I'm sure she's 18. If you wanna tap that—"

"Okay, Dean, that's really beyond gross. She's young enough to be my daughter!" I thought that this was an extreme exaggeration on his part. Granted he was about 16 years older than her, but it wasn't like either of us looked it. Hell, the kid didn't look a day older than he did when I had first found him at college and convinced him to join me in finding dad twelve years ago. So, it was about time that he take advantage of it.

"I'm not telling you to marry her. I'm just suggesting that you give her a roll around in the sa—" He cut me off with the palm of his hand and leaned over in order to roll the windows down. The Impala still had all of her original amenities, cassette player included, so he had to really lay into the handle in order to manually roll the window down.

Outside, the kids had finally crossed over to our side of the street where we could hear pieces of their conversation.

"So, do you want to see a movie or something? Maybe go to dinner afterwards?" the wrestler was still trying to get laid, but I guessed that no one ever told him that using weak ass lines involving "dinner and a movie," were about as likely to work with him as they would have on…well…the nerd who stared at him murderously from behind the girl's back.

"I would," the brunette ran her hands in all that hair and pouted, "but I have a sun burn. My skin's finally starting to peel." She leaned over so that her already low cut shirt was barely covering her chest. I couldn't help but laugh at the dumb ass look on his face and hit Sammy on the chest with the back of my silver blade to make sure that I wasn't the only one who'd seen it, but one look at Sam told me that something wasn't right. That something about the too perfect scene before us had gotten the wheels in his head turning. My hand instinctively clenched the blade even harder, and I could feel the adrenalin pumping in my veins. Red started to cloud my vision before I even knew the extent of the threat like I could already feel the blood of our next hunt on my hands. Hot and sticky, just like it always was.

"What is it?" I asked him.

"Did you hear how that girl talked about her sunburn? How she leaned over and showed the jock how badly her chest was peeling?" His words were disappointing in a way that made me madder than it should have. _Her damn chest! He'd gotten my hopes up, because the broad had showed some douchebag in a letter jacket her goddamn tits! You have got to be kidding me, _I fumed on the inside while biting the inside of my cheek until it bled just so that I could calm down. Suddenly, the nerd who had followed behind the rest of the kids, slammed into the Impala's grille, his blue eyes disturbingly familiar and unreadable behind those thick ass glasses of his. His head tilted in Sam's direction, still clutching the car, and looked directly into his eyes. Sammy stared wide-eyed at the kid, before following the kid's gaze over to me. We all stared at one another: Sammy looking at me, me gaping at Sammy, Sammy staring at the kid, the kid probing me. Then slowly, the dorky young boy pried himself from the car and continued to walk the pathway to his house. The cheerleaders walked in the other direction along with one of the wrestlers, leaving the brunette alone with the other jock. They walked up to the blue Victorian. The same blue Victorian that we just happened to be parked outside of.

Shaking the kid's creepiness off my skin, I turned to Sammy, "Clearly, he needs to get laid just as badly as you. Speaking of which, what does all that shit about her chest have to do with anything? You know that she was just trying to get him hard up, right?" Sammy was quiet for a second, producing a bottle of water from somewhere in the passenger's side and taking a thoughtful swig. He was stalling, almost like he was afraid to tell me what he was thinking and it irritated me with every bob of his damn throat.

He was starting to pull this shit more and more lately; keeping secrets about information on hunts, and stalling to clue me in when I finally found out about the threat. Recently, I had even heard him whispering on the phone late at night to Bobby from the bathroom of our motel, only to have Bobby call me the next morning and suggest that I "sit this one out." _Sit this one out, my ass! _They both had feigned innocence when I confronted them, but I was starting to wonder just how much I could trust them. After all, one of them had sold his soul to a crossroads demon, and the other had danced with the Devil himself. Who knew what tricks they had learned from those experiences, but I wasn't taking any chances. "Spit it out, Sammy!"

He hesitated for as long as he possibly could, and then sighed, "The brunette," he nodded up to the blue house like this said it all, "her chest really is peeling." I didn't see how this was relevant. By now, he looked pained, "She might have had more of an agenda for tonight than just sex," I still wasn't following. "She said that her skin was peeling from sunburn," he gestured to the dark overcast that had sat in the sky all afternoon. "Dean it's December in Fairfax, Virgina! Do you see any sun?" I was beginning to see where his mind was. The peeling skin. Luring that defenseless sucker back to her place. This lying bitch was the shape shifter that we'd been hunting! Was it possible that she was their alpha? _Only one way to find out_, I gripped the silver knife in my hands tighter as my other hand reached up to unlock the door, fingers itching to slice into her before she shifted into someone else and got away. But Sammy stayed planted in his seat with a sad look on his face that was hard to read.

"C'mon, get the lead out, Sammy. Let's go!" I was already out of the car and heading up to her lawn, before I realized that he still wasn't with me. Instead, he continued to sit in the passenger seat, reaching for his cell phone. "What the hell is the matter with you?" I hissed.

"I should ask you the same thing," he said just as defiantly, pissing me off. I eyed a light that had just turned on in the house. Third floor. Two doors to the left. Got it!

"What's that supposed to mean?" We didn't have time for this. Any minute, I knew that our shifter was going to kill the jock and shift into his skin.

"Look, I didn't want to bring this up now, but ever since I got back from Hell, you've been acting…" he searched around for the right word, "extremely hostile." In the backseat lay a rifle that I had almost forgotten in my hurry up the yard. Sammy watched me with cold eyes. Cold, judgmental eyes that weren't my brother's. _The Devil's eyes_. And then just like that, the look was gone, as if it were all in my head to begin with, and in its place was concern.

"Look, can we do the Oprah stuff later? Right now, we have a whore to kill." He grabbed my arm just before I could cock the rifle in my hands.

"See, this is what I'm talking about," he was exasperated now, getting more pissy by the second in that stuffy way that I had only seen on him and this vampire with heavy eyebrows that I'd come across in a town called Mystic Falls seven years ago. Just thinking about him made me even more anxious to kill this soulless shape shifter. If not for the sake of humanity, then at the very least for the wrestler. He had a right to know that the girl he was about to bang was a lying, scheming— "Are you even listening!" Sammy's face was redder than I had ever seen it before, "I knew I shouldn't have told you about the sunburn. This is the reason that I've been calling Bobby lately. The reason that I didn't even want you to come here today. You act as if everything is black and white and that we can just go in with our guns a'blazing and our knives raised high. But it's not that simple. There are a lot of grey areas that you're not taking into account because you're too blind to see how screwed up you are. You need help!"

"I've never been a better hunter than I am now. And don't you dare talk about grey areas when you know damn well that all we ever see are shit storms of black and even darker black. Now get your ass out of this damn car and help me ice this bitch, or I swear you'll be next."

In the twelve years that we've been travelling together, he and I had gotten into some pretty intense fights. Sometimes, those fights even ended up in physical altercations so heavy the Jaws of Life couldn't pry us apart. The last time, we'd had one of those fights had been seven years ago, just before he'd jumped into the pit. My eye had stayed closed for a whole week. And all the while, I knew that he hadn't meant any of it. Any of those times. We fought, because that's what brothers did when they had had enough of the other's bitching, but the way he looked at me now made me wonder if threatening him had taken things too far. Because that was the one thing about us: we may have blown up at each other in the past, but we'd go to the ends of the Earth just to save one another. Threatening to kill him after all that hard work, just didn't make sense. It just wasn't right. And I'd known for a while that something wasn't right with me. But as I'd said, whatever that something was, it had made me a better hunter. And I didn't care to figure out what was missing. Because to tell you the truth, I was starting to like that it was gone.

"Fine," he stared blankly at the blue house, "But let me do all the talking," if agreeing was the only way to get his uptight ass out of the car, I would have agreed to wearing a muzzle like Hanniblector. Since, that's what he was staring at me like, anyway, but he put his hand out again as we stepped onto the porch, "I mean it, Dean. The way you've been acting on hunts is going to get you killed. So don't say, or do _anything _without clearing it with me first? Got it!" He stood there, talking to me like I was a frigging child on his first day of kindergarten, and I ate out of the palm of his hand, because it got us that much closer to the kill. _Perhaps I really did need help._

"Just ring the damn doorbell, will ya?" He adjusted the tie at his neck and rang the buzzer. Once. Twice. Three times. After a forth ring, the door pulled back a little to reveal a middle aged woman who looked like the splitting image of the younger brunette from earlier. From the perky tits right down to the firm ass that you could bounce a dime off of.

"Can I help you boys?" she said it as if we were still in our twenties instead of our early and late thirties. From the looks of things, she could only have been in her early forties. I'd give her forty-three at the most.

As promised, I let Sam speak up, "Hello ma'am. I'm agent Forester," he took out one of the many fake FBI badges that we kept in our arsenal, "and this is my partner, agent Hanniger. If you have a second, we'd like to speak to you about the disappearance of your husband." Somewhere far off into the house, a scream rang off the walls. The woman at the door tore her eyes away from us and followed the sound of the yell.

"What the hell are you doing?" It was a male voice. The jock's voice, that I'd recognized from earlier, was muffled by the sound of glass breaking somewhere upstairs. And that was my cue. Nothing else mattered as I knocked the soccer mom out of the way so that I could run into her house and bound up the stairs. Neither the woman's cries nor Sammy's footsteps behind me were enough to make me turn around, because in that moment, the young brunette from earlier was standing at the top of the stairs, shedding both her clothes and her skin. Slithering out of her pale flesh like a dead snake right in front of me with eyes that taunted and teased, screaming, "You can't save the boy, hunter. Just like you, he's already fallen for the villain. But don't worry, unlike the witch, I won't let him live in misery for seven years. I'm about to put him out of his misery right now, and there's nothing that you can do to stop me!" With each step of my steel toed boots on the carpeted steps the girl molted—teeth, hair, nails, and skin flew past me as if they were bullets until her skin darkened and her eyes lightened to a green that has haunted my dreams for nearly a decade. Finally, I reached the top of the steps, ready to gank the skin changing monster. But she was gone. Vanished just as quickly as she'd materialized, in a swarm of long black curls that I could have sworn smelled just like incense and flowers. It didn't make sense.

We'd fought plenty of shape shifters in our day: babies and monster movie wanna-bees were amongst the strangest. Hell, I'd even been accused of murder because of those skin changing dicks. So, I knew how tricky they could be. Even worse, I knew that ever since Bobby had revealed the truth about the apocalypse—that it wasn't just one fight between good and evil, but rather a series of rounds between hunters and every alpha of the supernatural world—we'd be discovering a lot more about what kinds of tricks lay out there for them and other supernaturals alike. But the one thing I was sure that they couldn't do was disappear and appear out of thin air. It just didn't happen, yet that was exactly what the curvy brunette had done. She'd dematerialized from existence right after shifting into my worst nightmare.

Or at least, I'd thought that she had. But when I kicked down the door to her bedroom, the brunette lay on the floor in a lifeless clump beside the wrestler, half hidden in shadows; one of which chuckled low and sinister, "You should have listened to your brother and stayed in the car, because a man who lacks humanity is no different than a man without a soul. They're both so easily captured, and neither one can see the real trouble until it's too late." And then it pounced.


	3. USE SOMEBODY

**A/N: **Thank you to **TheSouthernScribe** for being my only reviewer for last chapter. But to continue this story, I'm going to need more. Because without the reviews, it gets harder to motivate myself to tell this story. So if you like it (or even if you hate the story) send let me know. Starting now, the chapters should be going up bi-weekly. I hope that those of you in school are doing well on your final exams. Anyway, I just wanted to post another chapter before I bury myself in books and notes for my accounting final tomorrow (last one, yay). Hope that you enjoy, and remember that alerts make me smile but **REVIEWS DRIVE ME WILD**!

**Disclaimer:** None of this belongs to me. And the song is by Kings of Leon (whom I love). So let's get on with it, shall we?

USE SOMEBODY

Bonnie's POV

Damon didn't chase me after our altercation that morning, and it unnerved me how bothered I was by the thought. After all, it was just one little fight. One time out of many that I'd had to fling him across the room in order to keep him from tapping my veins, and telling myself that he hadn't deserved it would have been a lie. Because Damon always deserved my wrath. I should have been ecstatic to finally have enough peace and quiet to teach my anthropology classes without interruption. But as I paced back and forth in my office at Mystic Falls' very own Lockwood University, I couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something wasn't right. Or that that something had to do with the reason that Damon hadn't gone after me this morning.

On normal occasions, Damon stayed by my side at all times—literally and figuratively—including the millions of calls with which he would hoard my cell phone during my lecture hours. Our conversations were never pressing, usually taking on a light tone filled with witty banter and harmless inside jokes such as, "So, how do you feel about Italian for dinner tonight?"

"As long as you're not talking about human beings, I'm fine with it," my reply would come, and perhaps it was my imagination, but I could almost always hear him give a sigh of relief as if my answer meant more than just agreeing to eat dinner with him. Like maybe it meant that I was agreeing not to leave him; a tragedy I wasn't sure that he could handle a second time.

-THEN-

Long after Elena and I had fully recuperated and been released from Stefan's care, I would make daily trips to the boarding house after school in order to keep my promise to the younger Salvatore and look after Damon. What I hadn't known at the time was that an action of such magnitude required strict care, but I quickly learned to stay mindful of the time of day in which I started my shift, so as not to surrender to the temptation of accepting Stefan's dinner invitation and run the risk of finding Damon sitting at the foot of his bed should I have had the misfortune of falling asleep.

"Just making sure you're not planning on coming between any brotherly bonds," he would allude to Stefan's and my growing friendship in that lazy, tired voice that constantly dripped with cynicism and more recently hurt. His broken tone was the only thing that stopped me from crippling him, so that I could roll over and fall back asleep. Instead, I would grunt in reply to the bitter joke, knowing just as well as he did that after rescuing Elena from the tomb, Stefan had barely completed two conversations with his older brother. Unfortunately, I wasn't awarded the same kind of luxury, because as I'd previously mentioned, I'd made a promise to Stefan. Of course, there was also an even uglier truth lying in the back of my conscious, reminding me that even though I wasn't as hated as Damon, I was every bit as alone. Maybe that small voice even had its own brain, because in that instant, I found myself rolling down the sheets on the bed's other side.

"Get in," I mumbled into the pillow, already having turned back to the side that I had been facing. He seemed too stunned to move. Whether it was because these words were the first I'd spoken to him in months or because I was suggesting something so intimate, I didn't know, but eventually, he slid into the bed beside me, neither of us daring to get comfortable enough to sleep.

"I could tear your throat open again and not even blink," he remarked to the ceiling without any real malice, as if it were just a statement. As if he were simply explaining how his mind worked, instead of issuing a threat.

"And I could drown you from the inside out on your own blood." I tried to make my statement as simplistic as his had been, but something about the half dressed vampire always made my blood race with repressed anger.

"I should rip your heart out, right now!" He turned me in an instant to face him, nostrils flaring to match the severity of the bulging red veins underneath his eyes. Apparently, the cool act was only a façade, and my angry tone had caused the same effect on him that his statement had had on me. But I just yawned in reply. Letting Damon know that I wasn't easily intimidated was an essential lesson that Stefan had taught me, because it was the key to earning not only his respect, but also safety. For awhile, anyway. "I mean it witch! You've made my life a living Hell!" he whisper-yelled, "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't sink my hand in your chest and yank out your heart?" His fingers dug deeper into my hips, but I was too numb to cry out.

"Because someone else already beat you to it," his breath caught in his chest at my words, and for a second, I thought that those wiry fingers were going to pull me closer. He looked so conflicted. So unsure. So…un-Damon. And I needed to break this connection soon, because just thinking about the words that had obviously struck a nerve inside of him was sparking a familiar pain that I'd worked too damn hard to alleviate.

There was no cuddling or tension between us other than a mutual feeling of hatred and something that almost seemed like understanding. He didn't make any other attempt to touch me after we'd separated, and I didn't send him out of the room to sleep on the couch. There was no need. He and I repelled each other like fire and ice or oil and water. When placed together, Damon and I naturally sought opposite sides of the bed, as far away from each other as possible.

The next morning, I awoke to a familiar Stefan-brand breakfast in bed, silver tray included. Only, when I pulled back the tray's cover, his famous smiley face pancakes and orange juice were replaced with chamomile tea, biscotti, and a pancetta, parmesan, and tomato omelet. Beside the arrangement lay a tiny place card held up by single black rose.

_**Said the great Roman emperor, Marcus Aurelius: Reject your sense of injury and the injury itself disappears.**_

_**-Damon **_

But then the weeks turned into months, and before any of us knew it, a whole year had passed to a date that Damon and I both knew well: Elena and Stefan's move to the University of Richmond. All day, Damon had tried to help the happy couple move boxes out to a well-stocked moving van only to be berated and dismissed. He had finally stopped trying to get Elena to trust him with the packing when Elena turned to me and Caroline—who was also attending the city's university sans her newly ex-boyfriend Matt, because he had deferred from college so that he could work to keep the house. "Incase my mom ever comes back," he'd told her—and muttered in a voice loud enough for Damon to hear, "The day I trust him again will be the day he takes off his ring and walks into the sun." The remark had so much bite to it that even Stefan flinched. Granted, he would never forgive Damon for helping Katherine kidnap Elena and stuff her in the tomb the previous year, but somewhere underneath all of that hatred was love. And if he didn't watch out, his love was going to tear him apart. I made sure to add that concern to my mental list of worries. But first things first, there was Damon.

The elder brother sat motionless on the bed in his dark room with the shades pulled completely down, his features secluded in the darkness. Still, I could distinguish the broken mask that he wore well. I could see it in his eyes that he was lonely to the point of barely holding back phantom tears from constantly building up his idea of redemption only to have the hope of such a triumph torn down by the mirror image of his first love. He constantly lied to himself, pretending that the guilt of what he'd done wasn't eating away at his insides. That all he'd lost wasn't haunting him deep into the night. But I could see in the forced smirk that he was weary from lack of sleep. Even worse, I couldn't remind him of his participation in their rage, because he already knew that he was to blame.

"Why the hell are you still here? Everyone else is gone," he spat at me like the venomous snake that he was. _Hell, why are you here? Don't tell me that you're trying to make up for what you've lost in Damon?_ The devil inside of me taunted. _Because if so, then you're just as pathetic as the vampire._ Which was true, after all, I was one step away from being Matt Donovan, the odd ball out who was stuck going to college in Mystic Falls because she knew that her father would need someone to take care of him when he came home. I had accepted this fate months before any of us had gotten our college acceptance letters back so that no one would know how much it killed me to have to stay.

Slowly, I crossed over to him, daring to approach him on the bed. His face was the picture of a sad little boy. Almost like Jeremy's had been the day that Sheriff Forbes and her officers found Vicki. As if the only thing holding him back from following Elena's advice to take off his ring and walk into the sunset was my presence and it almost broke my heart. Almost, but not quite.

"Then I guess that just leaves you and me." His hands shot out and pulled me onto the bed beside him, after which he snatched them back ungraciously. When he grimaced, I knew that my touch made his skin crawl in the same way that his made me sick. We scooted closer to one another. And just like that Damon accepted that he'd never have to be alone.

-NOW-

Afternoon melted into twilight with no sign of Damon. No sporadic "lunch" visits. No intrusive calls. Not even a single naughty text message, and my feelings of worry grew more intense with each tick of the clock's merciless hands. A national news channel droned on in the background, giving frequent reports on the disappearance of a Virginian mayor. None of them really stood out, as I sat in my fluorescently lit office grading that week's exams, until the high pitched music signified a breaking news story.

"Four days after the disappearance of Fairfax, Virginia mayor, Eric "L.J." Kripke, his daughter, Valencia was found lying on her bedroom floor this afternoon beside star athlete, Kevin Williamson, both drained of blood." The reporter went on to explain that while no progress has been made on the mayor's whereabouts, police found a black steel toed boot at the scene of the crime, but I couldn't focus on anything beyond the plunging sensations in my stomach. Four days ago, Damon had claimed that he was going to a blood bank somewhere up north. He'd called me the entire way there, filling me in on how he had a friend who could cut him a deal on blood.

"Since you won't let me compel the local orderlies anymore," he laughed over the cell phone's static connection. I hadn't thought twice about his extracurricular activities as long he was there in time to pick me up from the university.

Now, the mayor's—who had ironically been missing for four days—daughter was found, drained of blood today, and conveniently, Damon was nowhere to be found.

"Professor, Bennett," the young office aid stuck her head into my office, "Professor Gatina wanted me to ask if you could move your car. It's blocking hers in the parking lot." She must have noted my look of confusion, because she added, "Isn't that your boyfriend's shiny blue car out there?" Momentarily forgetting to correct her on her term for him, I looked out the window and found Damon's car parked in the same spot that he always parked it when he drove me to the university.

"Yes, um…tell Rach…I mean Professor Gatina that I'll move it right away." There was no love lost between myself and Rachel, but I wanted to get out to the car as quickly as possible.

The entire way, I prayed that Damon was somewhere near. That my imagination was running wild and that he was sitting in the backseat waiting to scare me like a paranormal twist to an urban legend. But instead of Damon sitting on the driver's side, there lay a note that read:

_**Went to help a friend up north. Be back soon…**_

_**-Damon**_


	4. SWEET APOCALYPSE

**A/N: **This time around I'm doing things a little differently. This story is still going to be told from the POV's of our favorite couple, but I have seven years and four different perspectives to address here, so for that reason, ther will be two chapters that focus more on Sam and Damon's view on how things have been with Bonnie and Dean since their situation at the end of _A Million Ways to Send Me to Hell_. They will be told from a narrator's POV (ie. Mine) spoken directly to the readers, and this is the first of those two chapters. Next Chapter will be a normal Bonnie POV chapter so if you hate this one, please don't stop reading just because it's different. I want to give a big thank you to **TheSouthernScribe**, who encouraged me to update, despite the lack of reviews. You are so kind, and I'd like everyone to swing over to her profile and look up her newest story. It's a Bamon fic. To all else **REMEMBER, alerts make me smile, but REVIEWS DRIVE ME WILD!**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. So let's get on with it shall we?

SWEET APOCALYPSE

The Winchester boys were as close as two people could get without being twins, and what could one expect from two people that were cut from the same cloth? But just because they'd seen and done everything together, didn't mean that they saw everything in the same way. The two men had been hunting on their own for nearly twelve years, and let's just say that the road so far had been anything but easy. And for just as long, they'd sacrificed themselves for the other, alternating deaths so that they were almost as predictable as the changing seasons. For instance, if Sam got stabbed in the spring, then you could bet your sweet ass that Dean would barter his life away come fall, and vice versa. The two of them had gone through this back and forth circle of life so many times that neither of them even blinked when the other's number was called, and as far as the subject of who's turn it was now, well, frankly, they'd lost count. Dean was starting to think that they were invincible, and it felt damn good to take all his aggression out on the things that went bump in the night. After all, the supernatural world had taken nearly everything about which he'd ever cared, relishing in its ability to pull the rug out from under him every time he'd even come close to finding happiness.

At first, the jaded blond would brush the grime off of his shoulders and find pleasure in places where the whiskey came cheap and the women were worth even less. Then, Evil got creative, killed off his entire family so that he'd had no one else in which to confide but an eighteen year old cheerleader with a dark secret. He'd loved her. He'd lost her. He'd gotten over her—or so he'd claimed—but this time, the loneliness was harder to shake. At least it was while battling his conscious. _So why bother fighting it anymore, _he finally concluded. In his mind, it was better to kiss danger right on the mouth, tongue and all, than to allow himself the luxury of feeling. Sam, on the other hand, wanted more.

For starters, he wanted to be able to go back to school. Taking internet courses online in his spare time under different names had earned him a couple of associate's degrees: a paralegal certificate awarded to Clay Miller here; a psychology degree granted to John Davis there, but none of them actually counted, and he wanted his life to count for something, because unlike his brother, he didn't take life for granted at all. Every morning, he woke up in a shoddy looking motel room right next to his older brother, after dealing with the latter's restless nightmares, and wonder what he was supposed to do now that Dean was unraveling at the seams. Yet, at least he woke up. Then, things took a turn for the worse one night when Sam noticed that the Impala wasn't in its parking spot. Panic gripped the taller brother, not because the car was missing, but because his brother was missing as well. Twelve hours, two congealing meals, and a shit load of phone calls and missing persons reports later, Dean walked through the door, all grins and giggles, minus his conscious.

"You sold your soul for a happy ending?" Sam couldn't believe what he was asking. He'd known that his brother was depressed, if the night terrors and self-inflicted burn wounds on his finger tips were any indication, but this was unbelievable.

"Don't be so dramatic, I didn't sell my soul. I just asked Crowley to put a cap on my conscious. And all we have to do is find Purgatory for him."

"Oh, really? That's all?" Sam wanted to question how his older sibling could be so stupid, how he could barter with the new king of the underworld, because it just wasn't like him to be so sloppy, but he supposed that this is what despair did: took hope from the hopeless.

"Yeah, he says that one of the alphas have it locked away. Now let's go kill ourselves some evil sons of bitches!" And that was how they'd signed up on this seven year suicide mission.

Sam ran away from the house of screams that winter afternoon toward another house that looked similar in its perfection, and hoped that his brother would be okay until he had killed the shape shifter. The real one. Not the dark haired vixen that he had wrongfully accused earlier. Some would call it a feeling, a perk that came with the job and gave him keen intuitive senses when things weren't as they should be. Others may have guessed that his clairvoyance had given him a vision of the two cheerleaders from earlier shifting into the other jock's skin. Honestly, though, he could attribute neither of those possibilities to his reason for suddenly knowing that the girls were serving up more than a round of Sis Boom Bah. It was the girls themselves. Or rather, it was the identical mole that they sported, and the memory of how their blue eyes had flashed almost silver in the sunlight earlier in a manner that just wasn't natural.

He positioned himself just below the second story balcony and hoped that his bulk wouldn't rattle the bush's leaves. If he was lucky enough, the twin shape shifters would be their much needed key to Purgatory, and this whole search/apocalypse would be over. It was a lofty wish, but it was the only one that he had at the moment. Still, he couldn't afford for the girls to get away.

"Looking for us?" Twin voices sounded in front of him. They'd switched out of their uniforms and into polka dotted halter dresses, circa 1950.

"We're old, Sam," Blond Number One twirled her platinum locks around a French manicure, "So can we hurry this process up? Dinner's waiting inside." Her sister motioned to the jock from earlier who was currently bound to a chair and gagged with a sock. From his experiences, shape shifters didn't eat their victims. They shifted into them and ruined their lives, but they weren't cannibals.

"It's on the table," Blond Number Two clarified just as impatiently as her double. "Now, I believe that we're due for a fight."

"Will you please come inside? It's not very polite for ladies to duel outside with members of the opposite sex." Number One blanched at the term, to which her sister corrected, "Pardon my French. I meant gender."

Sam stepped inside, not believing the scene before him. The house was spotless. A four-course dinner lay atop the long table in the dining room that both girls stood in, grinning from ear to ear.

"Won't you have dinner with us, first?" Number One prodded.

"Yes, come have dinner. It's not polite to conduct business on an empty stomach. Besides, we're not hurting anybody, Sam. Why are you so eager to hurt us?"

"Is it because of that crude brother of yours?" Sam had heard enough from the Polite Twins and slammed Number One against the wall, silver knife positioned right above her jugular. She was unphased though, opting instead to daintily push the knife away with enough force to slam him against the far wall.

"Oh dear! You've cracked the wall. You need a time out, Mister," Number Two stood in front of the man with a wine of wire in her hands. Suddenly, she stopped short, head swiveling backward toward her sister, who had just taken a drink from her water glass. The same glass that Sam had tainted with mercury. Once ingested, the twins morphed into each other, multiplied, and then exploded into bits of blond hair and polka dots. Sam freed the tied up wrestler, thinking that the kill had been way too easy. There had to be more to the mystery disappearance of Mayor Kripke than what he'd encountered with the Ditzy Twins.

That's when he saw it: the police cars lined up and down the street, blocking all exits. The brunette soccer mom from the blue Victorian lay stretched out in the back of an ambulance just as a team of crime scene investigators carried two body bags, and something slightly resembling his brother's boot, out of the house. A fist of fear clenched around Sam's stomach as he waited for Dean to emerge from the house. He didn't. It squeezed to near suffocating levels at the sound of the older Winchester's voicemail against his ears, but he wasn't yet scared for Dean. He was scared of what he might have done. Sam knew that without a conscious, or the ability to access his conscious, Dean was unstoppable. He also knew that, unfortunately, the cap hadn't taken away his memory; therefore, he remembered every loss in vivid detail. He just couldn't feel the error in killing for all that had been taken away, and that made him dangerous. Because here's the thing about pain: a person can only handle so much of it before something inside of him snaps, conscious or no conscious. Perhaps Sam should have given Dean the benefit of the doubt this time, ignored his suspicion and listened to that little voice inside of him whose breath foretold of death in its most final form. But the Winchesters weren't really big on trust.

As for what really happened to Dean in the blue house? Well, for now, that'll be our dirty little secret, and guess what? I won't tell if you won't…


	5. LOVE THE WAY YOU LIE

**A/N: **I rarely crank out chapters as quickly as I've written this one; however, Santa must have seen how good I've been this year (sadly) and granted me a slight reprieve from my writer's block. I want to thank **TheSouthernScribe**, for commenting. I loved the last part about being pushy. It made me feel all tingly inside. Ha ha. Also, thank you to **Kaci Knight** for favoriting this story. Hope to see your review sometime. This chapter is rather long, and it's for two reasons. First off, my internet security is about to expire soon, so I wanted to update, before I loose the protection. Secondly, I wanted to beef this story (and the relationships) up a little, give more insight into what you all can expect from this sequel, because as of now, it seems to be moving a little aimlessly and I wanted to get things back on track. So this chapter adresses a major sub plot, which I plan to be every bit as elaborate and confusing as its predecessor. For that reason, there is LOTS OF DIALOGUE. Also, I planned for this chapter to be called Hang With Me (it's titled that way in the preview at the end of _A Million Ways to Send Me to Hell_), but after finishing it, I heard the song "Love the Way You Lie" and thought that that would be a better title.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing, but if you want, you can get me rights to all the royalties. Or at least one of the boys. No? Well then, let's get on with it, shall we?

LOVE THE WAY YOU LIE

Bonnie's POV

"You will have exactly seventy-five minutes to finish this exam," I called from my podium at the front of the medium-sized classroom. It was the last day of finals before Lockwood University dismissed for winter break, which loosely translated to heavy amounts of bargaining from the students: "Aw, come on Professor B. Can't you just give us all A's for showing up on time?—which, considering the fact that I'd only seen the frat boy attend two of my lectures, was actually an astonishing accomplishment for him—followed by an entire week of grading papers and entering semester marks into the university's computer system. Needless to say, I was close to following the loud-mouthed kid's request, especially after the arrival of that day's mail. After an entire month of waiting and anticipating, it was finally here, right on time, laying atop a pile of bills on the rustic wood podium right next to Tyler and Caroline's engagement party invitation. And it really shouldn't have been so hard to open, but just looking at the blue envelope addressed to me without the courtesy of a return address made my breath catch and my palms sweat in the same way that my students were reacting to their exams. Unlike them, however, I knew exactly what to expect from the tiny parcel in my hands, because I'd been receiving them for years. Seven to be exact.

Every December, approximately one week before Christmas, a tiny blue envelope would find its way into my mailbox, housing a cheap holiday card that one would purchase from a small drug store or motel vending machine. The front usually featured pictures of Santa Clauses laughing jovially and persuading me to have a happy "Ho, ho, ho-liday." The inside remained blank, aside from an angular signature in smudged black ink—as if it were signed in a hurry—from "A Friend of a friend." I could have easily identified the author by scrying, but something inside wouldn't let me dredge up the courage do so. Besides, I had a pretty good idea of who "A friend of a friend" was without using my powers, and if I was right, then I'd gladly keep his anonymity if doing so kept his "friend" away from me. Now, I sat on a rickety stool, watching students text each other test answers, knowing full well that better professors, including Grams, would have failed them on the spot instead of mentally grappling with the decision of what to do with the Christmas card, but this week had been tiring enough as it was.

For forty-eight hours after finding Damon's note, things had settled down a bit—if you consider a lack of maulings or missing persons cases, settled down, that is—. He had sent me a couple of text messages inquiring whether or not I was okay, marked them with facetious I-Hate-Yous, and signed them in heart shaped emoticons. But on the third day, all hell broke loose—the murder of two cheerleaders had been reported two houses away from the mayor's, just moments after neighbors witnessed a tall, dark-haired man running from the girls' home—and the first thing that drowned when the levees collapsed, was my faith in Damon. It pissed me off, because he was better than that! He had to be better than the maniacal murderer who had nearly killed me, otherwise I'd really be in trouble, because then I'd have to drive a stake through his heart: a task in which, ironically, I was starting to find impossible to bear. As impossible as placing a cheap Christmas card into the trash bin where it belonged.

"Time!" the class screamed simultaneously. Apparently, seventy-five minutes had reached an end while I'd been ruminating, and now they were firing their essay booklets at me at speeds high enough to kill, in their haste to leave for the break.

"Pretending that Armageddon doesn't exist, won't stop the world from ending, Professor B.," Reny Lewis sighed forlornly with her tiny hands on her hips. Reny was a special girl who I'd gotten to know quite well during my first year of teaching. In the four months that she'd attended the university, we'd learned quite a bit from each other, including my eighteenth summer—along with the million ways a girl could descend into Hell—and her destiny as a witch burdened with the gift of foresight. It was no secret that the girl was my favorite student, but oddly enough, it wasn't because she was a witch. I admired her for her strength. At just eighteen years old, she carried the curse of being able to predict the future; she'd even dealt with persecution from her peers. Yet she was able to face her powers, smart-ass attitude and all.

"What did you see, Ms. Lewis?"

"Oh, nothing," she took her hands off of her hips in order to cross her arms over her chest, "just you surrounded by darkness. From _both_ sides." I reached out to touch her, to see what she was seeing, but she backed away before I could. "No one should know the outcome before the battle. It would break all the rules. Which," she added, "you're also going to have to do if you don't want to see him dead, you know?"

By now, we she'd collected the exams and followed me to my office, where she handed them back and pressed her shoulder against my door. "I worked really hard on that essay, by the way, but it's kinda difficult to focus when you've got…" she motioned to her head, indicating her visions.

"Just because I have a soft spot for you, doesn't mean that you deserve special treatment." The girl wasn't that much younger than me. Six years, in fact, and as with most of my students, it was hard to assert any real authority. Especially when a few of them were in their forties.

"I sure hope you take your own advice, Professor B." she started to walk away. "Oh, and stop drinking that nasty ass Vervain tea, already." My hand halted on the doorknob as I explained that with all of the "animal attacks" in this city, it would be irresponsible not to use protection. She found this more hilarious than advisory, calling over her shoulder, "Then, I'd imagine sleeping with Damon Salvatore has got to be sending some mixed signals."

Laughing despite myself, I opened the door to my office, ready to go home and face another restless night sleeping alone, but the two women who currently occupied the space had other ideas.

"I like that girl," my desk chair swiveled around until Caroline's face was visible, "she reminds me of another smart ass little witch I used to know." Elena emerged from her place behind the door and wrapped me up in a tight hug, laughing at Caroline's comment. Which was how the three of us ended up at the grill, sharing a platter of French fries and chicken strips.

We tended to have dinner dates once in a while whenever we'd let too much time go by without contact, but this time, the atmosphere was different, almost nervous."Alright, ladies. What's wrong?" They both yammered on about friendship reunions and dress shopping, but clearly they'd mistaken me for someone who didn't know them very well. "Why are you two really here?"

Caroline opened her mouth to answer before Elena could even swallow, "We wanted to rescue you from your boring ass life. You're one step away from being an old maid." A waiter approached our table with a glass of Long Island iced tea. Caroline's fourth. The teenager turned to me and asked if I wanted anything. "She'll have a gin and tonic on the rocks." The boy filled a glass for me and left us alone.

"Damn Care, a little subtly goes a long way, you know?" Elena chastised, but the crease in her eyebrows let me know that she wasn't far off in her idea of me. "Besides, you can't really talk about the horrors of youthful domestication, now can you, _Mrs. Lockwood?_

"That's soon-to-be Mrs. Lockwood," Caroline placed a fry between her lips and nibbled indignantly, "and just because I'm getting married doesn't mean that I can't still be young. Tyler and I have even made a pact to continue our weekly tradition of Birthday Suit Sundays." Elena and I groaned at our friend's need to over- share, but at least it was better than hearing her talk about her cherry-sized, princess-cut engagement ring.

"I'm twenty-four years old, Care," I reminded her.

"That's right! You're twenty-four years old. You should be going to night clubs, instead of going home straight after work and…" she ducked in her seat and used Elena's hair as a shield, "Oh shit! I think that's Matt…Oh shit! Oh shit! He's looking this way." _Great demonstration of how twenty-somethings are supposed to act, _I chuckled to myself, while Elena tried to calm the blond down, reminding her that Matt already knew of her upcoming nuptials, considering that he was Tyler's best man and all. Still the fit that she threw was worthy of a soon-to-be mayor's wife. _Perhaps I will have that drink. _I drank the entire glass in one gulp, leaving a very generous tip for the waiter, as the three of us followed the frantic Caroline out of the restaurant and into the car.

We sang along to a playlist of songs from our youth, shopped for the perfect dresses for the Lockwood-Forbes party, and talked about Damon. Elena still hated him, but even she didn't believe that he was capable of the Fairfax murders. Not anymore.

"Look, I'm not saying that I like him, but Stefan's been keeping in touch with him a lot lately. Apparently, Damon has a friend," she scoffed at the idea as if it were far-fetched, "whose being stalked or something. I don't know all the details but I know that he'd never do anything to hurt you. You're just going to have to be patient with him." My eyes zoned in on a strapless blue dress with crystal beading on the bodice. Suddenly the stitching needed my attention, and I was only too ready to oblige.

"Which is more than we can say about his attitude toward everyone else," Neither Elena nor I had really put much stock into Caroline's attention to our conversation, as just minutes earlier, she'd been talking on the phone to her wedding planner about the layout of the Lockwood estate, but now apparently, she had an opinion, "he's such a dick. Ooh, speaking of which, can you believe the size of his—"

"Caroline!" We screamed in unison.

"What? His estate is _huge_," she cried, "bigger than the Lockwood property, even. It's so unfair!" She had the decency to look genuinely scandalized. Elena chuckled throatily on her way to the checkout counter with a long black number, reminding me a little too much of someone who used to look just like her.

"I'm sure that B's very satisfied with the size of Damon's…_estate_," I blushed in reply, cursing them both to hell as my purchase was made and vowed not to speak to either of them on the way home. And I was able to keep this promise for a while, until the car's stereo settled upon a song that I associated with nights like this: riding around with the windows rolled up and the heat blasting the scent of my acai berry shampoo. When I too wanted to live out the adolescent fantasy of running away, never to return. My two close friends shared a quick look that I didn't care to decipher, because at that moment, I was years away. Elena pulled in front of the manor just as the song ended, but she didn't unlock the doors. Silence swelled around us for a second as if they were searching for the right thing to say.

Finally, Caroline settled upon, "Look Bonnie, in all seriousness, Lanie and I are just looking out for you. Neither of us is in the type of relationship that we thought we'd be in either, but at least we're happy. Can you honestly say that you're happy with," she motioned around to the house and Mystic Falls in general, "all of this? That you don't still miss…junior year? Not even a little?" I'd asked myself the same question from time to time, substituting the words "junior year" with he whom they really represented. _Was I really happy with Damon?_ I got the feeling that she wasn't asking the right question, but I was even more surprised that my answer was yes. Yes, I was happy. I was truly happy with Damon.

"Alright then," Elena still looked unsure, like she knew the question that Caroline should have asked and what my answer would have been. "Don't forget your dress."

"And ditch the granny panties. That dress is silk," Caroline uncouthly screamed to my retreading backside from the car window. "Better yet, why don't you just ditch the underwh—" Elena quickly rolled the window up and hit the blond on the arm before driving away, leaving me to face round number two of Operation Rescue Bonnie.

The moment I crossed the boarding house's threshold, I could hear the jumble of his thoughts. The sound made me groan and I knew that, for this encounter, I was going to need something a little stronger than the gin and tonic that had worn off hours ago. At my request, Stefan emerged from the shadows looking sheepish.

"You didn't think that I'd come back into town without checking on my best friend, did you?" We hugged for a bit, my head barely touching his chin, before I pushed him away hard.

"If you're planning on giving me the third degree, you can save it. I've already gotten it from Caroline and your girlfriend."

"They're just worried about you. I am too," he took Damon's favorite tumbler, filled to the brim with scotch, out of my hands and led me to the couch, where we discussed his worry in detail.

"Cut the crap, Stef. I know you've been talking to Damon lately. Tell me what the hell is going on, or I promise I'll go find him myself." Stefan knew that I'd do it too but hesitated all the same, muttering something about how Damon was going to kill him for telling me.

"Do you remember the night before we killed Katherine? When I overheard…the hunters talking about Klaus needing the last of the seven vampire families and her doppelganger alive in order to break the moon curse?" I nodded slowly. Now that Elena wasn't the center of vampiric contempt, I'd only vaguely remembered the story. During the late 1980s, two vampires named Trevor and Rose leaked pertinent information about vampires and the curse to a hunter in return for their lives.

"Well, the hunters did their research, but they weren't quite right in their calculations." I didn't understand what they had to do with Damon. He changed his train of thought, "Rose came home a couple of days ago to find Trevor beheaded. She traced his murder back to a vampire named Elijah, who wants doesn't want the curse broken and is looking for her. Now she's on the run, and she called Damon for help."

"So Damon really does have a friend up north?" I wasn't surprised that he actually had friends, I was just relieved that he wasn't the cause of the Fairfax murders. Stefan took that opportunity to lead the conversation to a destination in which I should have predicted.

"Unbelievable, I know. He's hardly deserving of love." The rafters above my head shook in my anger. Having Stefan back in his life meant the world to Damon. I'd listen in on their late night conversations, smiling to myself at how peaceful and at ease the older vampire was. Like he was finally getting his brother back, his best friend. To hear Stefan degrade Damon in such a way was infuriating, and I was one second away from giving him an aneurism, best friend or not. Then, that all too familiar Salvatore smirk played across his lips, his eyes twinkling knowingly. "Or clearly, he is. So when are you going to admit this one?" I shrugged out of my jacket, accidently dropping the blue envelope in the process. Stefan chuckled sadly and commented on how he always thought that Elena would be the recipient of his next statement, "Understand that it's okay to fall in love with one person while still being head over heels for another." Thoughts of walking away crossed my mind, but I surrendered.

"I can feel him fading away. It's like I've spent seven years adapting, pretending that he never happened, and just when I get the hang of being without him, something," I pointed to the card, "reminds me of him, and I fall just the same. But your brother…I…well, let's just say that I don't hate him as much as I used to." Stefan wrapped me up in his arms again, telling me that everything would be okay.

"You're all he can talk about. 'How's Bonnie?' and 'Don't tell Bonnie about any of this.' He doesn't want you to get involved. He doesn't want you to get hurt, because in all actuality, he needs you. That's why he wants you to say it first." A lump had formed in my throat. I couldn't handle this right now. Only he wasn't finished. "Listen, despite how stubborn you two are, you both…feel for the other. But if you ever feel like all of this is too much, just say the word and I'll come back to look after him." He said it as if Damon were a two year old in need of supervision. As if I were merely his babysitter, not someone who'd grown a fierce attachment to him against my will. Still I hugged him in appreciation, not stopping until Damon walked through the door in a jealous rage, throwing Stefan out of the house, and not calming down until I assured him that we were only friends.

He scoffed at the term, "Just friends? Isn't that what you call us? Do you kiss all of your friends the way you kiss me?" The anger had transferred from him to me.

"Do not speak to me that way again!" My teeth were gritted, skin bruised from a round of Let's-See-Who-Can-Fling-The-Other-Across-The-Room-Farther. For a second, his eyes wore black and blue blemishes and his arm dangled broken down by his side. Then it healed and I repeated the process. Now, we were both tired. "Because next time, I won't hesitate to end you. Now, get a grip on your issues and tell me what's wrong."

"I'm jealous, Bonnie! I won't try to deny that. I am a jealous, dangerous, maniacal predator, with very few redeemable qualities. I know that. I've embraced that. But you're the first woman to put me first in her life," I opened my mouth to tell him that the only reason I held him so close was to keep him from dragging Mystic Falls to Hell, but he waved me off and continued, "Despite the reason, do you honestly think that I'm going to give that up? That I'm honestly going to give you up?"

I had always known that he was insane. But I had at least thought that he knew me better than this. "Isn't that just great; to be held in such high esteem as someone like, oh say, Katherine. With complements like that, I can see why she wanted to kill you." He staggered back as if he had been slapped. The moment Damon and I had realized that our cohabitation was more than just a temporary convenience, he and I had come to an agreement: nothing was off limits, verbal attacks that turned physical, physical brawls that turned sexual, and sexual activities that gave way to more verbal abuse. It was a never-ending cycle that neither of us could imagine our days without, and nothing was too vicious an assault, except for two topics. And I had just broken my half of the agreement by mentioning one of them.

My hand was aimed and ready to fling him out of the window if he chose to charge me. But this time, he didn't. For a second, I actually believed that all my requests for him to control his temper had finally sunk into his brain. However, I soon found out that his tongue was sharper than his fangs could ever hope to be.

"Is that so?" He was calm. Almost smiling. His eyes, on the other hand, were murderous. "And just who would you rather I be?" He circled me now. Slowly, as if I were his prey. "Would you rather I be the one who left you devastated and alone with barely enough strength to stagger home?" My breath caught in my throat and he chuckled, taking my surprise as a sign to keep going, "Would you prefer that I write you a note describing how much I hate you; that you could read over and over until you slowly lost the will to live and decided to end it all by drowning in your bath?" His cruelty backed me against the wall way before his body made contact with mine. I couldn't look at him, though. My eyes wouldn't leave the loose floor board near the window. It was where I kept Dean's letter, despite the fact that I had memorized every word. Damon's hand cupped my throat in a strong but strangely comfortable grip. His lips were to my ear. "Would you rather I be so repulsed by what you are that I purposefully choose the monsters in the night over what we had?" The lump in my throat pushed at his hand, but he still didn't let up. "Would you rather I be him?"

Listening to everything that Damon had said and knowing that it had all been true would make one hate them both. Dean for leaving in the first place, and Damon for relishing in the pain of that loss. But I couldn't hate either of them. Damon was doing what Damon did best: attacking the person who had betrayed him the most. We had had a deal, and I stabbed him in the back. Now, he was determined to press his body to mine until that knife pierced through him and punctured my own heart. Still, the real reason that I couldn't hate Damon was because the only cause for his spite was his growing affection for me, not his lingering love for Katherine. And yet, as he stared at me with those startling cerulean eyes that made most girls melt, I knew that if I answered his question, "Would you rather I be him?"—the question that Caroline should have asked—he would have crumbled. He deserved every bit of physical pain that the Heavens could dole out to him. But my requited affection for him set limits upon cruel and unusual punishment. So, I shook my head no, even as my head screamed "Yes! Yes I would!"


	6. TATOO VAMPIRE

**A/N: **Hello all. I hope that all of you are having a wonderful holiday season. I want to thank **babyshan211** for reading and reviewing _A Million Ways to Send Me to Hell_ this past week, and also for adding _A Million to One_ to her alerts. You are incredibly kind! I hope that the sequel is every bit as intriguing as the first. Also, thank you **zitchdog**, **weirdmii**, and **XlegacyX** for adding me to your alerts. That really means a lot to me. Speaking of meaning a lot, thank you to **TheSouthernScribe **for sending me a shout out in her wonderful story _Mixed Signals_. I'll admit, I've been reading your stories more than I've been writing. And you were totally right about what Damon's picking up from Bonnie's burried love for Dean. Now, I must warn all of you, this chapter deals with a heavy topic (ie. sexual abuse). I have tried to describe things in a way that is not completely crude, but there is only so much censorship that I can handle, so if that type of thing makes you sqeamish, then skip to the dialogue. If you do skip, then what you basically miss is Dean's recount of what it was really like to be in Hell and how the Devil's harsh treatment of him has started the decline of his behavior. I wanted to give you all this view because many people have commented on his harsh treatment toward Bonnie toward the end of _A Million Ways_, and I wanted to show you all why he hates this stuff so much. But again it's dark (that's what watching Supernatural season 4 repeats on DvD does for you. I'm now totally at the mercy of Dean's tears. Lol.)

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing, except a deviant mind, and a computer. Happy New Years everyone! Now, let's get on with it shall we?

TATTOO VAMPIRE

Dean's POV

Okay, so admittedly, the first thing that I thought when I woke up in the damp, dark space that smelled like stale piss and rotting meat was that I was somehow back in the pit. It sure as hell would have served my ass right for going into that house uninformed without a goddamned lick of sense, and at the very least, I wondered if maybe me spending an eternity in a place where a month could take up to ten years and Alistair and his demons made a daily game out of skinning me alive was the best thing for Sam. After all, he was right. I was damaged goods, a hundred times over. However, thoughts of being back brought back memories that I would take to the grave and beyond before I shared, but memories that, nevertheless, would have explained a whole hell of a lot about the way I'd been acting this past decade.

The darkening of my soul began way before I met Green Eyes; not that losing her had helped any. But lying here in blackness, shackled to what felt like a chain-linked fence, I realized that my descent wasn't completely her fault. She just sped up the process. In reality, Hell had changed me, made me that much closer to a demon, and I had a feeling that she liked the taste of sulfur on my skin. I imagine she suffered through reading the angry shit I'd written to her before I left, even if I hated myself for even thinking about her in that way, because at least she knew that I had thought about her one last time. Still, as with the woman who came and left before her, I'd done her a favor by leaving her with that fanged faced prick. I gave her the apple-pie life that she deserved, where she was safe from the Hell that I'd rather die than drag her to. Because for me, the pit had been much more than signing up to be one of Lucifer's meat suits, or even one of his demons. It was worse in the only way that could really break me: by making me Satan's bitch.

It hadn't started out that way. At first, it had been just like I'd told Sammy. Every night, Luci and his henchmen would offer me a deal: immunity from pain in return for my willingness to join them. When I resisted, Alistair would rip me limb from limb and shove fire-heated skewers through my ass until I was nearly choking on them, just to put me back together again in the morning. Some would wonder why I hadn't taken the deal to begin with, why I hadn't put someone else in my place on the rack, especially when Hell was supposed to be filled with murderers, rapists, and all other low life dicks that deserved nothing less than to become human shish kabobs. That's what they say that Hell's supposed to be like, but that's a load of bullshit. Truthfully, Hell takes so many souls hostage that it's hard to tell the real evil from the sad chumps whose only crime had been dying in the wrong place at the wrong time, and I sure as hell wasn't going to be responsible for doling out the same type of pain that had been doled out to me. So, I took my beatings like a man, until I couldn't take it anymore, and on that final day, I realized that there really was such a thing as having too much pride. If having integrity was worth spending eternity in place where the hopeless grew bitter and demonic, then integrity could screw itself, because honestly, I was tired of getting screwed.

I joined them during the third month, tore meat from bone with my teeth; it felt like it took thirty years, but I'd finally become what Sammy and I hunted: a monster. Even worse, I enjoyed the killings. It felt…good to be needed, to be back to killing demons. And for a while, Satan was satisfied, but slowly, he grew angrier, greedier, and harder to please. That's when the real hell started.

People think that Hell is hot and lit up with fire, but that's another heaping pile of shit that they got wrong in the rule books. To be honest, the pit was a cold, hollow hole of dark shadows that I spent the last month/ten years of my sentence hiding in. Luci took a liking to me from the beginning, called me his Little Innocent, and made a point of corrupting that by looking at me in ways that he shouldn't have. Then, the looks and touches gave way to something darker, something that embodied lust. So many nights—and this is the part that I could never tell Sammy, that I couldn't even remember for myself until now—he'd saddle up behind me, split me wide open, and make me beg for mercy in some weird attempt at S&M gone wrong. He would pound and pound and pound until my spine snapped down the middle, and even then he wasn't satisfied. He was never satisfied, not until he'd filled me with a scalding hot outpour of liquid fire that actually made me miss the skewer. Strangely enough; however, having the Devil literally ride my ass until it bled wasn't the hardest part of being in Hell. The hardest part was waiting for him to come for me, hiding in the shadows, praying that he wouldn't find me lurking there, and knowing that he always would. Later, I learned to block the experience out all together. After all, Cas had saved me from all of that, right? Wrong. I hadn't been saved from anything. I'd just been prepared for the next round of torture.

Green Eyes was everything that I could have asked for: a piece of redemption for someone who hadn't done a damned thing to deserve it. But behind the long curls, caramel-colored skin, and smoky smell, lay someone who was dealing with her own damnation.

"Maybe I like it rough," she had said the first night we met, and that one cheesy ass line had turned me into a puddle at her damned feet. Saddest thing was, she wasn't lying. No matter how innocent she looked, she knew how hustle men around like chips in a poker game, screwed me so hard, it was nearly a sin. The Devil certainly could have learned a few things from this chick. And when she'd shown me what she really was, I'd made the connection between her and Luci again, looked at her as just another evil, self-serving whore who'd bent me over and made me her bitch. Only this time, not even having my brother back was enough to ease my never-ending range of emotions. They were never good emotions, just shitty feelings of worthlessness and rage, that made me a liability on hunts, and I wanted them to stop. I needed them to stop, because without a conscious, I was stronger. In fact, I had a chance of being too strong for Hell to hold. But that didn't stop me from nearly shitting myself at the thought of being back in the place, and although he was better off without me, I couldn't help demanding his help.

"Sam!"

"Save your voice. No one can hear you down here," the voice in the shadows was familiar, like someone I used to know but couldn't place. "I've been waiting six long years for you, Dean."

"Is that so? And you are…"

"She's dead because of you!" the shadow demon screamed like he hadn't heard me. Or like he had heard me but didn't give a damn. "She was all we had, and you Took. Her. Away. From. Me!" In my experience, supernaturals were more interested in getting underneath my skin than sharing their own demons—no pun intended—and they were too proud to start crying like a bunch of wussy little bitches. Yet, that's exactly what the kid—I still couldn't see him well, but judging by the voice, his meat suit couldn't have been more than fifteen or sixteen years old—was standing here doing.

"Aw, did I roast your girlfriend, or something?" I struggled in my chains to get closer to the sound of the voice, "Bang her behind the bleachers before sending her back to back to Hell where she belongs?" The kid's breathing was hot on my face and laced with a rancid blood smell. _Since when did demons drink blood? _I wondered, as a face detached itself from the shadows so that he was fully visible. This life had prepared me for a shit storm of strange sights that normal people passed off as imagination or tricks of the mind, so I was rarely ever surprised, but the face I saw snarling and spitting in front of me was something that I wouldn't have expected in a million years.

"My mom! You killed my mom!" Now I realized why the kid looked and sounded so familiar. Earlier, in his get up of khakis and taped up coke bottle glasses, all I'd taken him for was a horny misfit who needed a good ass kicking. Or maybe a good lay. Now, he'd traded the Steve Urkel gear for a blue button up shirt and dark jeans that were so tight he could barely walk. Even so, without all the piercings and listening devices attached to his head, I almost didn't recognize the nearly bald blond from Mitch's Motors whose eyes had turned demon black.

"So, we're possessing teenagers now? You can't even be man enough to possess something with a little bit of bass in his damned voice!" You wanna rip me apart for ganking Mommy Dearest, then go right ahead, but leave the kid alone." The demon wasn't listening though. In fact, it seemed as if he hadn't even heard me. Instead, he paced in front of me, balling and un-balling his fists at his sides like he was trying to calm himself down, and doing a really piss poor job of it.

"I was working the late shift when he came by. Said he had a bone to pick with the hunter, but of course I had no idea what he was talking about," he laughed bitterly, like the story left a bad taste in his mouth. "He didn't believe me though. The…the…wind…the windig…"

"Windigo," my response was automatic, and it only seemed to piss him off more.

"I didn't ask for your help! Not that you would come through if I had!" The kid ran up to me with superhuman speed. "I looked up every goddamned Sam Johnson in Virginia, and do you know what I came up with? Squat shit! But that didn't matter to him. The windig-whatever-the-hell-you-just-called-him didn't care that you had run away from Mystic Falls like a coward with his ass on fire. All he wanted was blood, and do you know who he got it from when he couldn't find you?" This time, he waited in vain for an answer. I had to admit, he was good with the whole distraught, I'm-so-alone, teenager thing, only I wasn't convinced that he was really Luke. So he could conjure up some lame ass sob story on cue. Big frigging deal! A demon wouldn't be a threat if he couldn't lie about who he was at the drop of a hat. "My mom! He waited for her to get off from work one night, and then he popped her off. Some of her co-workers told police that the creature was a sick patient from the loony bin. Others had no fucking idea what he was, because he was covered in so much of my mother's blood, it was hard to see his face, but I knew what he was." The more he talked, the harder it was not to believe him, to believe that he really was Luke, but I held off for a while longer. For one, I was desperate not to believe that this kid had lost him mom, because of me. And for two, the kid hadn't aged a day since I'd last seen him. Not a single damned day!

He backed away and grabbed a pole. _Here it comes, _I braced myself for the scalding heat of the pole's red-hot end while he bitched about getting his mother's decapitated head in the mail, and having social services take his younger sister, Angie, from him. "I had to let them take her. You know why? Because that punk ass monster threatened to kill her too, and next time, he said he wouldn't be as generous as he'd been with my mom!"

"Luke! Listen, man, I'm sor—"

"Save it! I looked up every Sam Johnson in the book, but nothing came back. It was almost as if Sam Johnson didn't exist. Guess we know why that is, don't we?" He laughed again. "So then, I went to see that little slut that you were banging. Bonnie Bennett, was it? By then the self-righteous little bitch was fucking the older Salvatore brother, but for some reason, she was still protecting your sorry ass. She told me that she had no idea what I was talking about when I asked for your real name. She said that she'd cheated on you and that's why you left in such a hurry. She never was a good liar, but then again, she fooled you didn't she?" Hearing him talk about Green Eyes like that made me want to rip his lungs out, but I couldn't get past what she'd told him. How, even with the angry parting words I left, she still took a bullet for me. Especially when I knew that she probably could have done some witchy mojo to find me like she found Sammy. It's what I would have done had the tables been turned. "Then one night, he came into Mitch's shop driving a black, 1929 Bugatti. I told him that I didn't do foreign cars, but he just laughed and asked me if I did revenge instead."

"So you sold your soul, just to get back at me? I've got to admit, that takes balls, but—"

"What the hell are you…no, you idiot! I didn't sell my soul…he…the boss told me that he could take away the pain. That he knew a way that I could block it out."

I shook my head at him the best way that I could. Had I not been shackled from the neck down, the situation would have been kinda funny, or at the very least ironic. All we needed was to be in a motel room and motel room with his mouth dripping demon blood, because that's exactly how much he reminded me of Sammy. It made me wonder if this was the closest I'd get to ever seeing Sam again. "Dammit Luke! And you believed him. Don't you know better than to play games you can't afford to lose?"

He sneered, "Don't you? After all, you're the one walking around here all soulless and shit, bargaining with demons for a shot at being numb. Tell me something, Dean," Luke stuck the pole into a nearby fire pit before sliding the burning metal onto my chest, "because I've been watching you for a while now. What's it like not to feel? That's the only thing that the boss got wrong. After six years, I still can't seem to shut off my emotions. But you…you don't seem to mind that your brother thinks of you as half a human, that he still blames you for the four-year old in St. Augustine?" I wanted to care. The old me would have cared that Sammy, the kid who used to look up to me when we were kids, couldn't even manage to look at me now, but I couldn't feel anything past the fear of what was yet to come.

"So what now?" He threw the pole in the corner and ran to me again.

"Now?" For the first time since we'd been here, he smiled genuinely. "Now, I'm gonna show you what my mom went through." Before he could shove me with more hot metals, a tight voice screamed for him to stop.

"Lucas, how many times do I have to tell you that your job is solely to look after the fledglings and make sure that they are well fed?"

"But that's what I was doing, boss," Like whined. The voice that responded was unfamiliar but the fear and obedience that he provoked was as good an identifier as any. The dark skinned man with the long fingernails, bald head, and black suit had the name Satan written all over him in blood red ink. He set down a glass that was half filled with some thick red liquid that sloshed until a few drops fell onto the concrete floor. Baldie turned on the light, proving that I was, indeed, strapped to a fence that held off a crowd of glazed-eyed, salivating Thriller video rejects.

He sniffed the air around me like he could read my mind through the dried blood stains on my clothes. "A hunter! You brought a hunter into the nest?" The man crossed over to the younger boy and held him by the throat. A little part of me still saw him as the scrawny fourteen year old who used to sneak nudie mags to work and bum classic rock albums from me.

"He's not just any hunter," the kid squirmed under the weight of both Baldie's stare and his grip, "He's the one I've been waiting for. The one you said you'd help me get revenge on. He's the soulless one."

They looked back and forth from me to each other as if I were some side show freak in the circus. "I sent you in that house to sniff out Rose's scent now that that insolent Elijah successfully ruined my plans and scared her off. That was all you had to do, but instead, you bring me a hu…," he set Luke down and sniffed me longer. "Huh. Well if it isn't Hellboy."

"In the flesh," I hoped that he could hear the rage in my voice. I hoped that it hid the horror I felt at having to wait, wait for him to try and break me like he used to. "But I'm not going to be your bitch this time, Luci." He staged backward, confused, then he laughed, exposing a mouth full of shape teeth as he explained that he wasn't the Devil and this wasn't Hell.

"Lucifer may have my flair for killing souls, but he does it with far less grace. All the probing and the stabbing. Not to mention the untamed sexual deviancy," he winked at me at this last part, ignoring Lucas's pleas for Baldie to let him kill me. After a few seconds, he ripped the kid's heart out. Luke fell to the floor, leaving behind a puddle of self-pity and anguish. "I apologize for that," he gestured toward the corpse formerly known as Luke. "It's hard to find good help these days. But you have to admit, the kid had enthusiasm."

_Yeah, and look where all that enthusiasm got him_, I thought._ At least one of us is out of his misery, though._ To Baldie, I asked, "So that's how you're gonna do it, rip my heart out? Classy," he had the nerve to look offended.

"Of course not! I've got plans for you." From out of thin air, he produced a six inch shot glass and filled it with blood from his own arm.

"You know, the thing about the conscious mind, if you can access yours, that is, is that they are unpredictable. All the useless range of emotions, the stifled guilt. It's like watching a bomb. You know that it's going to explode someday, but you just can't tell when. But a man without the ability to access his conscious only has one thing on his mind: murder." He stroked the long glass with his yellow fingernail, deep in thought. "You'll be my strongest tracker, much better than the wolves I sent after her. You'll be a most perfect animal."

"And what if I don't agree to hunt your precious Rose like Luke did? What if I find a way out and take turns icing your sorry ass with my brother?"

"Then I'll make sure that little Sammy takes another vertical dive. And this time," he brought my attention to Luke's body, "I'll make sure that there's nothing left for his soul to return to."

"What the hell are you?" I asked just for the sake of stalling and cursing myself for not noticing it sooner: the red veins underneath Luke's black eyes, the superhuman speed…

"I go by many names. Most people call me Klaus." He grabbed the back of my head until it tilted upward toward the ceiling. "But you can call me your maker," And then he poured the shot glass of venomous vampire blood down my throat.


	7. ADDICTED

**A/N: **I am sorry that this update is so late. It was kkinda hard to come up with an idea for this chapter. I know what I wanted to happen and I even had a couple of paragraphs written, but I couldn't put the rest of this story together, and I'm a bit of a perfectionist. I won't do anything unless I love it 117%. Especially considering the fact that some of you, like **TheSouthernScribe** and **rutharaya16** took the time out to review and/or add me to her alerts. Therefore, it would be an insult to you all if I didn't at least try to make this story coherent and readable. This chapter is long, and it may be the last update for a while because school is back in session, and I'm really a dope at business (which is why I can't fathom why I decided to get my MBA). Anyway, enjoy. **READ AND REVIEW**.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything. The song is by Kelly Clarkson. So let's get on with it, shall we?

ADDICTED

Bonnie's POV 

Cold air greeted me as I emerged from the shower, still wet from both its hot, pulsating spray and Damon's amorous cleaning techniques. Behind me, the water switched from a steady rhythmic hum to a more insistent drum, letting me know that I only had a short window of time to apply cocoa butter and concealer to my black eye before Damon stepped from behind the frosted glass shower door. Usually, when he and I got into physical altercations like the one we'd gotten into last night, I didn't mind if he saw the scars that he left. Sometimes, I even wanted him to see them, going out of my way to tie my hair away from my eyes or wear clothing that revealed more of my skin just so that he'd have both a physical reminder of what he'd done and a warning that I had every intention of retaliating against him for the assault. Yet this morning, as I thickly applied my DermaBlend concealing paste, I realized that I didn't want Damon to see the bruise. We hadn't gotten into a fight this extreme in a while, and I really didn't have time for his guilt or the plethora of apologies that was sure to accompany it.

As if summoned by my thoughts, Damon stepped behind me, circling my waist with wet arms, and pressing his length—that he hadn't even bothered to cover with a towel—into my back. I stared at our reflection in the mirror, his head resting on my shoulder, trailing my collarbone with cold lips, my head lolling involuntarily to the side as if it were preparing the rest of my body for round six of whatever lecherous, and sometimes gravity defying activity that the vampire had in store for us, and wondered if maybe we could stay just like that. Just two people: one the perfect embodiment of the undead and the other a prime example of someone who'd had yet to actually live, wrapped up in one another as if not moving could stop time itself. Neither of us wanted to be the one to break the moment, but when his lips neared further toward my pulse point, I knew that the fantasy was over and that it was time to bring us both back to reality before anymore blood was spilled.

"Much as I would like to continue our extended night cap, it's morning now so…" he grinned at me from the mirror, before spinning me around and lifting me slightly onto the pedestal sink.

"Speaking of which," he tilted my head until my lips meet his, "Good morning." The kiss was chaste but with a hint of muted sensuality that almost felt like the first time he'd pressed his lips to mine.

**-THEN-**

It was the summer after my sophomore year at Lockwood U. That night had all the makings of a budding friendship: tumultuous thunderstorm outside, raging fire crackling in the background, and an even more heated debate forming between Damon and me on his couch.

"The only good thing about that movie was the kiss between Buffy the Vampire Slayer and that annoying little brunette, Cecile," Damon rewound the infamous Kathryn-Cecile picnic scene in which the former was trying to instruct the latter on the rules of seduction.

"_Cruel Intentions_ is a classic! Sabastian Valmont is the perfect embodiment of the selfish, rich, playboy who learns the weight of his actions without the clichéd, ride-off-into-the-sunset happy ending," I argued around a mouthful of strawberry ice cream.

Damon took the bowl from me and sat upon his knees, getting more involved with the argument than he had with the entire movie. "No, de Laclos's _Les liaisons dangereuses_ was a classic. This," he pointed to a scene where the vulnerable yet assertive Annette finds Sebastian waiting for her at the airport, "is nothing more than a slightly better written, late 90s, human version of Twilight. But then again," he smirked, comparing Ryan Phillippe's character to someone I used to know, "I forgot about your affinity for sardonic blonds."

I sat back in mock offense, ticking off the movie's similarities to his life with my fingers, "Wow! Sex. Deception. Bitchy women named Kathryn. I thought that this movie would have been right up your alley." He picked up his tumbler of scotch and mumbled something about being sick of slutty Katherines. "Yeah, well I'm sick of all the Dean references thrown into every conversation. And if you hate this movie so much," I took the tumbler from him in the same way that he had done with my ice cream, "then why do you keep watching it with me weekend after weekend?" His eyes twinkled with something somewhat playful, almost secretive.

His voice dropped, making me instinctively lean in closer so that I could hear him, "Because as much as you claim to love this movie, you seem to have missed the rare moments of suppressed attraction." He pushed me back against the cushion slightly before planting a simple kiss onto my lips that was so light, I almost didn't feel anything. Almost. We stayed like that for a second, nothing touching except for the pull of my bottom lip between his in a mixture of scotch and strawberries. "Or maybe I just enjoy watching the two least likely characters finally get together." I had a feeling that he wasn't talking about the characters in the movie anymore. We pulled apart from each other, dazed. And then he rewound the kiss scene for the tenth time that night.

**-NOW-**

Sometime during the kiss, his hands found my face and the concealer that hid traces of an unfair fight. He pulled them back and stared at me in horror. "Bonnie…what…did I…" I quickly turned back to the mirror in order to apply more makeup to the wound that he'd uncovered, assuring him that I just bruise easily, that it didn't feel as badly as it looked. Yet, he wasn't pacified. Behind blue eyes, the wheels turned in his head back to the many times that we'd flung each other into oblivion out of mistrust, rage, or sometimes just because it was Thursday and we had nothing else to do—or anyone to do it with for that matter. The Damon Salvatore that lived inside of those memories would have stood behind me, signature smirk playing on his lips, and blame me for the whole ordeal. At the very least, he would have issued a half-assed apology that was supposed to transcend the next time he screwed up. This Damon, didn't do anything but trace the wound with gentle fingers, studying it as if the bruise were a new species of fungus.

"This whole mess with Rose is pissing me off, and then I walk in on you and my brother being so…close. Not to mention the Christmas cards that you've been hiding all these years…" he searched my eyes for a second, looking for the right words, "I guess I just snapped." My relationship with his brother was about as taboo in the Salvatore/Bennett household as was the topic of Dean and Katherine mainly because our friendship, and my holding on to the mysterious Christmas cards, though he'd never admit, has always somewhat reminded him of her—making him fearful of losing yet another woman in his life to his brother or some outside source—and I knew that no matter how many times I reassured him of the contrary, the suspicion would always remain. It would reside right beside the pain of losing her; for that I couldn't blame him.

"It's fine. I'm a fast healer," was my terse reply. "You should see the other guy." The joke didn't do anything to dissolve the tension between us. If anything, it made it worse, especially considering the fact that his wounds had healed only seconds after I'd inflicted them. I really should have seen where the conversation was headed, but of course, I didn't.

"You know, Bon Bon," the smirk was fastened back onto his mouth, "you'd heal a whole lot faster if you let me give you some of my blood. Maybe we can even share. A drop of mine for," he let his fangs graze my shoulder, "a drop of yours?" I suppressed the rage bubbling up inside of me, masking it instead, with sarcasm.

"Just so that you can kill me in my sleep and turn me into the walking dead? I don't think so, Damon. This isn't 1864, and you're not my Kath…" His eyes hardened before I could even get the rest of her name out, but the attack was even more frustrating for me. Three years! We've managed to play nice, or at least not cause any lasting damage to each other and obey the pact that we'd made, for three years, and now I couldn't even oblige him for three hours. _What is happening to us? _I wondered.

_Just say the word,_ Stefan's thoughts were so close now. He and Elena must have been staying with Jenna and Ric for the Forwood—yes, Caroline had actually used this portmenteau in reference to their relationship on the invitation—engagement party, _and I'll take over. No questions asked._

_I'm not leaving him, Stef. I can't leave him._

Damon remained wrathful, yet, thankfully, completely ignorant of the internal conversation that would have undoubtedly sent him over the edge. I braced myself for yet another black eye to match his future aneurism, but instead he just walked away, calling from over his shoulder, "I'm starting to understand why your favorite movie is _Cruel Intentions._ Now get dressed and go do your little teacher, grading crap upstairs in the library. Ric's on his way."

Downstairs, Alaric Saltzman walked into the parlor with haste that spoke volumes of both his authority and worry. For the past seven months, Alaric rarely left his house, opting instead to tend to the needs of his pregnant wife, Jenna Saltzman. During our phone conversations, Elena would comment on the elder woman's strange cravings and her husband's even stranger requests.  
"Do you know that he wouldn't let her get out of bed for a whole week? Aunt Jenna called me every second of every day." I laughed at her uncharacteristic whining while trying to convince her that new parents can be a bit neurotic. "No! Caroline is neurotic. Alaric and Jenna? They're bordering on psychotic. She even called one time when Stef and I were…" I could practically see the blush on her face, but the point was clear no less. Jenna was an emotional wreck and Alaric was over-attentive. His only exception for leaving the Gilbert residence was to teach at the high school; therefore, his unannounced house call this morning struck me as more than just out of character. It reeked of the supernatural.

"We've got a _major_ problem!" He headed straight for the living area.

"Well hello to you too, High School History Teacher Who Walks into Other People's Homes Unannounced? What can I do for you?" Mr. Saltzman ignored the vampire's mockery and made himself at home on the couch. He didn't say anything for a second as if he were gauging Damon's mood before he unleashed whatever information he had that was worthy of his impromptu visit. A wave of terror swept over me when Mr. Saltzman took the scotch that Damon offered to him, because, now that he and Jenna were expecting, he never drank. Never. This had must have been big!

"So what's the big emergency that's got your boxers in such a twist?" Damon stood at the bar and fixed himself a drink.

"Your friend…the vampire, she's mi—"

Before he could finish, Damon held up a hand, raising his voice a little so that I could hear him loud and clear from my place in an upstairs corner. "It would behoove you, Judgie, to be a good little witch and go turn in those grades before your deadline has expired. Otherwise," in the blink of an eye, he was right in front of me, pinning me to the banister, "you might expire as well." He caught my arm as I tried to push him away from me.

"Screw you, Salvatore! Something's going on in this damn town," I roughly grabbed his chin between my fingers, "And I want to know what it is." He held his ground, threatening to break my neck if I even so much as thought of sticking it where it didn't belong.

"If you think that I'm going let you get kil—" he couldn't finish the words. "You will _not _ask me to do that!"

"So I'm just supposed to sit around and pretend that you're not going on some suicide mission?" I grabbed the other side of his face with my free hand. "You clearly do not know me very well." Momentary disbelief flashed between the anger in Damon's eyes.

Finally he sighed, "If anything happens to you, I won't hesitate to give you my blood, kill your cocky ass, and then shove a stake through your heart. Do you understand me?" I rolled my eyes at his retreating back, ignoring his grumbles about the five foot pain in his ass just wouldn't go away.

Once the two of us settled down long enough to rejoin Alaric in the parlor, he launched into a story that I've tentatively titled, "War of the Rose." In this case, Rose was a 500 year old vampire that Damon had met soon after his turn. She was like his version of Stefan's late best friend, Lexi, but given the facts that a) she'd already found a close companion in Trevor, and b) Damon could never have a strictly platonic relationship with any woman, their friendship was one of instant gratification. Not close enough to share each other's secrets, but too attached not to share the other's worries. They were what I liked to call "special friends." At least, they had been until three years ago.

Getting back to the story, after going up to Fairfax and finding Rose alone in her home due to burying Trevor's headless remains, Damon brought her to Alaric, asking if he could watch her for a while. With Rose out of the way, Damon went back up north to sniff out Elijah, an ancient vampire who is Rose insists is using her in the whole doppelganger/moon curse. The mysterious Kripke deaths, along with the murder of the twins living down the street from the mayor brought too much police attention to the area, prompting Damon to return to Mystic Falls He vowed to resume his search once things calmed down; however, having Damon on the case, had evidently done very little to satisfy Rose's nerves.

"So you just let her leave?" Damon screamed when Alaric concluded his story with how he'd come back from serving Jenna—yet again bedridden—a pancake and spaghetti sandwich, only to discover that Rose was missing. "Are you seriously telling me that I can't even leave her in the house with a semi-vampire slayer and a vegi-fied vampire without fearing her disappearance? You idiots are about as incompetent as the witch here," Damon remarked like I wasn't in the room, or more like the comment was a subliminal message that I _shouldn't_ have beenin the room.

"You're absolutely right," Alaric's expression was grave; "it was completely selfish of me to be more concerned for the mother of my unborn child than your sporadic bed-buddy. Besides, how were we supposed to know that she was going to run off?"

Damon pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, "She's been on the run for 500 years. Do you think that perhaps, that bit of information was enough of a clue for you?"

Mr. Saltzman's jaw twitch was as good a sign as any that I should step in before their emotions overflowed. "Guys, we'll get more work done out there, looking for Rose, than we will arguing about her in the boarding house."

"Well Stefan's out there patrolling the woods. I guess he thinks that this Elijah may have been the one after Katherine, thereby putting Elena in potential danger, but I told Jenna that I was just going to the store." Alaric picked up his keys and headed to the door. Jenna was still oblivious to the vampires that ran amongst her, and given the state of his ex-wife, Alaric intended to keep her that way.

_So that's why his thoughts are so close by, _I decided, _he's practically in the backyard. _But I couldn't blame him for leaving Elena and Jenna in that house while he searched for signs of Elijah. The night before we killed Katherine, Stefan and I overheard very disturbing news about the last vampire copy and her doppelganger. Apparently, whoever made vampires infected seven families from each of the world's continents. He made them to be able to produce a doppelganger every 500 years. For instance, Katerina Petrova in Europe was infected soon after having a child, a little girl. Half a century later, in 1493, Katerina's descendent, also named Katerina Petrova, was exiled from Bulgaria for conceiving a child out of wedlock. She fled to England, where she met Rose and Trevor and hanged herself. Upon waking up as a vampire, she renamed herself Katherine Pierce. Fast forward another 500 years to 1993 Mystic falls. A seventeen-year old cheerleader leaves her newborn child on a young couple's doorstep. That child was christened Elena Gilbert, Katherine's exact body double. Before we killed Katherine seven years ago, the Petrovas were the last families to have both a vampire double and a living doppelganger. And now there are none. Stefan and I had heard the whole story in an apartment above a place called Mitch's Motors. The man telling the story claimed that Katherine's death would unleash the oldest vampire in history and start the second wave of the apocalypse. Billy, I believe was his name. Bobby, maybe? Only Stefan claims that Billy, or Bobby, had done his calculations wrong—whatever that meant—but I supposed that he wasn't taking any chances with Elijah on the loose and Elena being back in Mystic Falls.

To Alaric, I said, "It's okay, Mr. Saltzman. We can take it from here." The aging teacher wrapped me up in a half hug.

"You can do so much better," he whispered in my ear, perfectly aware that Damon could hear the insult. I smiled in reply.

Damon caught my arm before I could exit the house, "I'm serious, Bonnie. I won't hesitate. I won't even bat an eyelash," he whispered in reference to his earlier promise to turn me into a vampire and stake me should I wind up in danger.

Damon and I spent the next eight hours looking for Rose. We searched up and down the eastern coastline of Virginia, through vast, vacant, small town fields, to the crowded apartment buildings in Fairfax. Somewhere between the yellow acreage and the golden-lit shopping centers, hunger pangs stabbed at my stomach, holding on fast.

"Great, now we have to stop for food." I tried to persuade Damon not to stop until we found Rose, but he waved my concerns away, "I can barely hear my own thoughts through the damn rumbling of your stomach. How quickly do you it will take for other vampires to hear it? We're going to stop at a diner, so that you can hurry, and I do mean _hurry_, and eat something." The car exited the highway, headed straight toward town. On our way to the diner, I could have sworn that I'd seen a figure barely moving in a dark alley. The figure was wrapped in black trash bags, clutching at its edges with badly burned hands. A silver ring adorned the figure's right ring finger, and my stomach lurched. _Where have I seen a ring like that?_ I wracked my brain. _And why is that figure missing a shoe. _I thought back to a couple of days ago, back to a news report on the Fairfax murders, "…police found a black steel toed boot at the scene of the crime…" _And now this…creature is missing his shoe._ It is very possible that in my hunger, I was overreacting, projecting my fears and memories onto some badly burned homeless man who'd lost his shoe moving from place to place. But the part of me that bled Sheila Bennett's blood wouldn't let the sick feeling inside of me die. Suddenly, I wasn't hungry anymore, but I did have an idea on how we could find Rose more quickly.

Damon parked the car and rushed us inside. A burly waitress stalked over to us, showering Damon with her best Do-Me look, to which Damon shuddered and fled to the restroom. To me, the woman, _Roxy_, her nametag read, asked, "What can I get ya', Sugar?" Without looking at the menu, I ordered a bowl of clear chicken and rosemary soup. She looked at me as if I'd grown two heads.

"Chicken and what?" she scrunched up her plump face and slapped her note pad on the countertop. "Look, Fancy-pants, we have tomato, chicken noodle, and New England clam chowder. Take your pick!" Taken aback by her brazen tone, I narrowed my eyes and ordered a bowl of hot water with a sprig of parsley. She wrote the order down and walked away.

"I thought I told you to _eat_ something?" Damon saddled up beside me.

"Look, do you want to find Rose, or not?" He shot me a perplexed look when my "soup" arrived, but made no move to question my actions. "I need something of Rose's."

"The only thing that I have of her's is a picture in my cell phone." I told him that that was perfectly acceptable and waited for him to hand the phone over.

"Great, now I need you to distract Roxy, while I take this to the back booth," he looked around like he had no idea to whom I was referring. Finally, his eyes settled on our waitress and narrowed."

"You have _got_ to be joking!"

"Just flirt with her until I get far enough from view. That's all I'm asking." Damon cursed all way to the kitchen, leaving me with the even more reluctant task of scrying for Rose.

At first, nothing happened, which wasn't really surprising considering the fact that my mind wasn't focused on solely Rose, my only link to her was a digital picture over Damon's cell phone screen, and I hadn't done this in almost a decade. But then, thick red smoke started to erupt from the bowl the way it every time I scryed for a vampire. The picture that flooded the water's surface showed a tall woman with shaggy brown hair, wearing a black tank top and jeans, and running from a pack of wolves. As the smoke engulfed me, the woman inside of the bowl fell prey to the sharp incisors of a particularly rabid wolf that she swiped away quickly. But not before he managed to take a bite out of her shoulder. The scene flickered to the same woman sitting with her back to me in a room cluttered with blood bags and raw hamburger meat. It clung to her fingers in dried clumps and fell from her foaming mouth. Behind her lay a 1970s style refrigerator that I would have known anywhere. Whatever trouble Rose had gotten into, it had landed her to an empty room above Mitch's Motors, to a closet inside of apartment J2. Tiny droplets of blood rippled the disturbing picture. My nose was bleeding, yet I couldn't stop. Not when I was so close. The next vision that came through turned the smoke around me a light pink hue, much lighter than the deep red that signified a vampire's age. The smoke clouding Rose's vision had been blood red. Even Damon's smoke turned a deep strawberry shade. Whoever this vision warned of was more than likely a vampire, but perhaps, not quite as powerful? The blood-laced water gave way to something masculine and sinewy. It was the crouching figure from the alley. Don't ask how I could have possibly conjured his image when I hadn't been holding anything to link him to me, because it was a mystery to me as well. Sensing that the sun had finally set, the man cautiously removed the garbage bag from his eyes. Pools of blood streamed from both my nose and eyes, turning the water and the man dark crimson. I passed out a second later, but not before noticing the olive undertones in his eyes, or the deep rasp in his cry.

"Sa—"

I woke up later in Damon's room. "Two seconds!" the homicidal vampire grabbed onto my shoulders. "That's how many seconds I was from shoving my bloody arm down damn your throat." His arm was decorated with a series of deep gashes that were healing as we spoke. He didn't let up until I asked him about Rose. "She's in Stefan's room. He found her in a room above some auto shop downtown. Stefan and Elena are here too by the way." I tried to get up, but he pushed me back down and positioned himself on top of me, "If you _ever_ do something so stupid, so completely selfish again…Elena and Stefan would have been devastated if anything had happened to you."

He looked so innocent, so genuinely worried that I couldn't help reaching up and stroking the loose strands of silky hair away from his cerulean gaze. Where most people demonstrated their affection in words from the heart, he showed his in the actions that I was only starting to appreciate.

"Getting attached are we, vampire?" I smirked quietly.

"Trust me, witch, of all the things that would have been affected by your absence, my heart isn't one." The fear and perspiration on his skin deceived his claim, but I let him believe it anyway, choosing instead to press his slick forehead to my chest and thread my fingers through his scalp. Need: it was the cause and cure for the pain of our love, and frankly, even though neither of us wanted to admit it, I wasn't really sure that the heart hadn't had something to do with that.

Elena cleared her throat, interrupting the scene between us. He quickly jumped away and paced to check on Rose in Stefan's room.

"You two looked pretty cozy," Elena sat beside me on the bed.

"E. Rose wasn't the only vision I had," I whispered from beside her. She listened as I filled her in on the vision that had cut into my picture of Rose covered in meat.

"Speaking of which," she cut in momentarily, "Stefan said that Rose's eyes were heavily dilated when he found her feeding on a blood bag."

"Like she was compelled?" I sat up with a start.

"More like she was high off of blood," this statement didn't make sense until Elena filled me in on Rose's animal diet. "She's saying that she heard a kid talking about the apartment above Mitch's Motors. She heard the kid say that 'the boss' turned him so that he could track her. Then, someone sicked werewolves on her outside of Fairfax, so she stole a bunch of raw meat and blood bags and took it to apartment J…_something_."

"J2" I heard myself correct her automatically. _What the hell is going on?_

"That's it. She says that someone named Elijah compelled to steal the blood so that she won't die from the wolf bite, and to stay at the apartment so that she can't get herself into anymore trouble. But really? Have you ever seen a vampire get compelled?" The whole thing was getting crazier by the minute. I could see in Elena's eyes that she didn't believe the farfetched story. We had all seen firsthand what bloodlust could do to a vampire. It was the equivalent of methamphetamines to an infant, and there was no telling what kind of paranoia an addict would succumb to when the intoxication subsided. Still, I too had seen the wolves, and my scrying was never wrong. There was only one way to find out for sure. And that was to get a reading from her myself.

"…and now she says it may not have been Elijah who killed Trevor after all. She says that beheading is usually his mode of operation, but…" Stefan cut the sentence short, sparing Damon of the details that he was already starting to piece together in his mind. They were down the hall, too far to see me slip into younger Salvatore's room.

Rose had her eyes closed. I backed away to leave, but stopped when a firm British voice rang out, "I like him." I closed the door before asking her to repeat herself, "I said," she rolled over, "I like him. He talks a good game, but he's way more human than he gives himself credit for." She fixed me with tired eyes, "But then again, you already know all that, don't you? How long have you two been together?

"Seven years." The answer came as automatically as if she were asking my age and what I did for a living. Vital living statistics that created the illusion of a perfect existence I had memorized as if I were a character living behind a well trained camera in the pages of a preplanned script. But in all honesty, the answer, "seven years," didn't even begin to describe Damon and me.

"Humanity is one of hardest things to break when you turn. Human emotions, they become amplified somehow." I wondered how I had gone from trying to read her to having her read me. "So even though he says that your absence would leave his heart unblemished, it is, in fact, the very first thing that would collapse. Five-hundred years, and I've yet to feel something like that." Slowly, she reached out and grabbed my arm, adjusting ever so much like she could feel the thoughts of silver rings, missing shoes, and green eyes ringed in thick red veins running through my mind. As fate would allow, I felt nothing from her skin. For me, it was her words that gave her away, "Don't break his heart."

I couldn't tell who was lying—Stefan and Elena about Rose's bloodlust, or Rose about being hunted—, but there was one thing about which I was completely certain: whatever her affliction, be it human blood or fear, they weren't the only things to which she was becoming addicted. And she wasn't the only one.


	8. NIGHT PROWLER

**A/N: **Sorry I've been away for so long. It's just that I've been swamped with school and work stuff. Plus, Dean's POV didn't really come to me until 2am this morning (leave it to him to leave me hanging for three weeks and then keep me up until 5am. Ha!). Anyway, thank you to **TheSouthernScribe** for commenting on the little love tango that Bonnie/Damon are doing. He's really starting to fall for her on a level that exceeds his fear of being alone. **babyshan211 **you are such a doll for reviewing all the chapters so far. Again, I loved your Wow! at the end of Dean's last chapter. I hope this chapter wows you even more, because I really had a fun time writing it (however, I didn't like having to wake up four hours later). Lastly, thanks to** vickytori **for adding me to your alerts. I hope that you review sometime. Now before I leave you all to the story, just let me say that this is kinda long. I felt bad for not reviewing in a while and Dean just would not shut up. And secondly, if this chapter seems a little bit choppy and frantic at times, it's on purpose. These chapters are supposed to be in that person's POV, so read it and you'll know exactly why it's so frenzied.

**Disclaimer: **None of this belongs to me. In fact, a lot of it happened in a Season 6 episode of Supernatural. I just elaborated and exaggerated the plot. Now let's get on with it, shall we?

NIGHT PROWLER

Dean's POV

I've awakened in some strange places in my day: alternate universes where mom was still alive, clichéd T.V. sitcoms, and Tuesday mornings where I died over and over in some sick attempt from the Trickster/Gabriel to show Sammy that I was hopeless. And I didn't put it past good ol' Gabe to have somehow pulled a Cas-style resurrection just to Obi-Wan me and put me back on the path of righteousness. To show me through images of myself lying ass-up in an alley with a melted candy bar—Oh, please let it be a candy bar!—stuck to my face that, when trying to numb myself to all of Life's shit, I should really learn to be careful what I wish for. But, as I woke up wrapped in dirty garbage bags, I realized that this "lesson" was a little bit extreme. Even for him.

It was like having a bad acid trip. You can still see everything going on around you—watch as skanks in short skirts pick up poor bastards who should have gone home to their wives instead of shelling out dollars for pieces of ass that hid rows of fangs behind their tiny red lips. You can hear cars racing down the highway and couples in apartments from miles away, screwing so loud it's almost impossible to hear the human mouth breathers jacking off to the sound in apartments below, let alone think. And don't even get me started on the smells which, besides being a twenty-four hour buffet, the streets gave off a stench of guilt, lust, rage, laziness, hunger, sorrow, and greed. I was lucid enough to witness all of it, but when it came to getting off my ass and actually doing something—or even remembering something past going into that Stepford house, for that matter—besides letting the sun literally fry my damn skin, that was a different story. Being a hunter, I should have smelled that something wasn't right here. Only, it wasn't that unusual for me to have a drink or two—okay twenty—at some hole-in-the wall dive bar and then wake up, hugging a puke covered toilet seat. Granted, I had never gotten so trashed that I wound up lying in it before, but that had to have been what had happened. The million dollar question now, is where the hell Sam was when all of this was going down? Because, we've had our differences, but it wasn't like either of us to just leave the other to rot.

I must have lain like that for damn near twelve hours, hiding from the sun and trying to figure out what kind of drug causes sensitivity to sunlight and sound when I smelled her. The smell was a little different from what I was used to. But even covered in expensive leather laced with cheap cologne, I could still make out the smoky smell of her skin as if I'd never left. It was the same flowery shit that all girls seemed to love, but warmer and more exotic, just like her._ First I'm seeing her damned ghost in the house, and now I smell her on the highway._ _This can't get any worse, _I thought, until she said a name that I could have sworn I'd heard before followed by a voice that turned my stomach.

"No. We can't stop until we find Rose."

"I can barely hear my own thoughts through the rumbling of your stomach. How quickly do you think it will take for other vampires to find us?" He hid his worry for her with annoyance. I wondered if she could see through all his bullshit. If she was as perceptive as she was when I'd last left her, or if she wasn't who I'd thought she was at all. Maybe she was just some broad who talked a good game like her, who wasn't afraid to get her hands dirty and wore the same kind of shampoo that she did. I had my money on the first idea, yet it wasn't worth risking third degree burns just to catch a glimpse of some chick that may or may not be banging Dracula. Who may or may not have forgotten all about me.

"Aw, screw this!" I mumbled. I had bigger problems than some girl with stomach issues. If I didn't get something to eat soon, I was liable to start swinging.

Headlights flew past me, on my jog down the blurry street even though the sky was as bright as a cloudy day. "Sam!" I was still wrapped up in garbage bags, looking for both our motel and a place where I could get dinner when a chick with red hair rounded the tree lined street into an alleyway behind a restaurant, smelling like annoyance and hamburgers. She looked around to make sure that no one was watching her before lifting a black, "I hope Cupid dies a horrible death" shirt over her head and replacing it with another that claimed to have the best burgers and fries in Virginia. I couldn't help noticing how the see-through tank top underneath both shirts rode up a little, exposing a lower back tattoo that read "Bite Me." _My kind of girl._

"Roxy is going to kill me for being late," she whined on a sparkly, pink cell phone. I rounded the corner behind her, wondering how the hell that food smell was getting stronger even though we'd just passed the burger joint. If I didn't know better, I would have said that this broad was the one making my stomach ache. She turned around and gave me the stink eye, like I was the rude one for eves dropping on a private conversation that she shouldn't have been having in public. After a while, she turned back around and continued, "No, she's a such a damn ball buster…oh you know what I mean, and I didn't even get a chance to pick Mia up from daycare…" she waited for a second while the person on the other line spoke. "What do you mean you can't pick her up because your fantasy football meeting is tonight? I swear, Barry, sometimes you can be such a dick!" More talking on the other line—something about the red head in front of me being even more of a ball buster than whoever this Roxy chick was—sent her into a frenzy that nearly burst my eardrums. "Barry! You get your ass down to that daycare and pick up your damned daughter!" She ended the call and dropped her phone back into her bag, sending waves of meat and tomato sauce my way. "What the hell are you looking at?" She asked like she couldn't have cared less that she was in a dark alley with a stranger.

My throat was starting to burn like acid reflux, making it real hard to talk to her. Instead, I moved closer and clenched my teeth to keep my gums from aching. "Please lady, you gotta help me!" She crossed her arms over her chest, heart picking up speed like she just realized that being a bitch wasn't a good idea right now.

Or not. "What do I look like? The Federal Reserve? Go find someone else to bum money off of and leave me the hell alone." She tried to sidestep me, but I caught her arm and accidently flung her into a pile of boxes next to the hamburger joint's side door in the blink of an eye.

"Dammit lady. I said I need your hel—" watching her forearm tear open stopped me. Her blood rushed out from the cut, taunting me with demands like, "Eat me hunter! You know you want to," and the gut wrenching realization was that I did want to. I wanted to flip her back over and drill my teeth so far into her skin…I couldn't even finish the thought. Still, the truth was that I was so hungry, I was actually thinking about drinking her dry, because it wasn't hamburger grease and tomatoes from her t-shirt that had made my stomach do back flips earlier. It was her goddamned blood.

"Please! Please don't kill me. I just got paid," she took a couple of twenties out of her bag and threw them at me. "You can have all of it, just please don't kill me. My daughter's first birthday is coming up…" My eyes were starting to burn as badly as my throat and gums; the skin underneath them was tightening up, and finally I couldn't take it anymore. Even though I still had no idea what had happened after I'd chased down that shapeshifter, I was getting a bad feeling that this wasn't just some acid trip. If I didn't know better, I'd say I was turning into a…but where the hell would I have gotten infected?

She sat in front of me with her fingers wrapped around her bloody arm. The cut was going to need stitches, but neither of us had time for that right now, so I tore off a piece of my sleeve, hoping that the homemade tourniquet would stop the bleeding long enough for her to call 911 and for me to get the hell out of dodge before I did something we both were going to regret.

She eyed me strangely, not that I could blame her much. It wasn't everyday that civilians were flung into brick walls outside of restaurants and then got offered help from their attackers, but here we are. And from the sound of the commotion inside the diner, we were about to have company. She heard it too, something about black smoke and a bloody nose. We only had about two seconds before she started screaming; I could see it written all over her face.

"Um…so I don't suppose you could tell them that Barry likes to play rough?" I nodded at the door knob that was starting to turn and chuckled. She stopped struggling with the torn sleeve and looked at me. I expected her to tell me where to go, or maybe even run for help. Anything that would put my mug shot back in front of local news cameras. Like I hadn't gotten enough of that in St. Louis. _Or St. Augustine for that matter._ Either way, I didn't expect her back to stiffen at my request.

"Barry likes to play rough," she repeated in a zombie-like voice. I sat back stunned.

"What did you just say?" Her red hair fell to the side of her tilted head. It was the only thing that moved on her limp body.

"Isn't that what you wanted me to say? Barry likes to play rough?" I still didn't get it. I wasn't exactly new to charming my way into stuff, especially where women were involved, but this went a little beyond charm. She looked like she was under some kind of spell.

"Alright. What the hell is going on here?" She kept staring at me. "A minute ago, you were giving me my walking papers, and now, you're lying for me?" She shook her head, woodenly as if someone had shoved his hand up her ass and moved it for her. "Why?"

"Because," she blinked twice, "you told me to." _Well this is just straight out of the Twilight Zone. _I really couldn't believe it. But I took it as a lucky break, for now, and ran off. I sure as hell didn't want to stick around for the look on the waiter's face when he came out back and asked her what happened to her arm. "Barry likes to play rough."

Plus, I knew that somewhere inside of her "yes sir" act was a case for Sam and me to solve. Once I found him, that is.

"Sammy!" The whole world was a blur in high definition with surround sound included. Even nighttime looked like 3:00 in the afternoon, but everywhere you looked, idiots continued to flare their headlights bright enough to put my eyes out. _Something's definitely not right. Everything's way too loud, too bright. Just let me get my head right._ The loud sounds, bright lights, and suffocating smells were driving me insane. "Sam!" The harder I screamed for him, the louder the horns blew.

"Lay off the horns, dammit!" I screamed to no one in particular. Drivers gave me the middle finger salute in response like I was some crazy old man with tourette's. Well they could go screw themselves. I didn't give a damn what a bunch of nineteen year old frat punks thought, but it took everything I had not to run up to their cars and rip their filthy throats out anyway. Just for the hell of it.

Up ahead, my baby sat in a motel parking lot, shining like she missed me, and I swear I'd never been more happy to see her in all my life, Hell resurrection included. Finally, things were starting to feel more normal. Hopefully, Sam would be inside and he could Google me up a cure for whatever this was fast, because we still had a shape shifter to gank. And after we did, I was going to have a little chat with Crowley, who I'm sure had a lot to do with this. A very forceful chat.

Little did I know, he had the same idea in mind. "You boys are getting a little sloppy in your old age." It was Crowley. I'd know that condescending British prick anywhere. What I couldn't understand was what the hell he was doing inside our room, talking to Sam.

The blinds were down, but the voices inside were clear as day. Or night, in my case. Bobby took a long swallow before asking, "What the hell are you babbling about?"

Crowley ignored him, footsteps loudly pacing back and forth on the dirty carpet. Knowing him, his hands were probably doing more talking than his mouth was. And knowing how full of it he was, his hands were probably more interesting than anything he could say to Sam right now. "I found the cap to your brother's conscious lying at my doorstep this morning. Now we had a deal, and you boys know what happens when you try to get out of a demon's deal. If either of you think that removing his seal is going to keep me from collecting—"

"What on Earth would possess him from removing the cap? He's the one who sought you out in the first place, so he wouldn't just back out your precious Purgatory search now." Bobby sounded skeptical, like he didn't believe a word the demon was telling him, but he also didn't know where I'd been the last day or so. He didn't feel the years of repressed anger and horror at what I'd done without my conscious. Even worse, he didn't know that I could. I could feel everything now, because, somehow, Crowley was right this time. The cap was gone.

For the first time since I'd been listening to their conversation, Sam spoke up, "Not unless he's found a way to get rid of his soul permanently."

"Sam, what are you talking about? He may be going through a tough time, but he's not a complete moron. He's still your bro—"

Sammy stopped typing for a second and cut Bobby off, no doubt trying to avoid another long-winded lecture to nowhere, "Look, I know you want us to be this great big happy family again, but we're not. And after what he did to that girl in Florida," he paused like we hadn't had this conversation before, "I'm not even sure that that thingout there _is_ my brother."

I had half a mind to leave right on the spot. Sam clearly wasn't phased by Crowley's confession—in fact, he seemed to be pushing the limits of not even caring about it—and if he was, he sure as hell wasn't letting on to it. If that was the case, then I'd take the Impala and go find my own damn cure, because I'd done just fine those two years that he was away at Stanford plus the four months that he spent in Hell. But I had a feeling that if I went back out there, I was going to hurt somebody.

Crowley smelled like was enjoying this. His clapping was louder than friggin' gunshots like he was getting a kick out of seeing us at our worst. _Well get in line douche bag_.

"Oh, Danny Boy! Care to share your thoughts with the rest of the class?" Crowley opened the door. He stood in front of me like a prep school professor who'd caught me passing notes in class, and waited for me to step inside, something I was having trouble doing. Call it a hunch, but I had the strangest feeling that their members-only party was one that I couldn't crash without an invitation.

"Where the hell have you been, Dean? We've been trying to find you for four days." I still couldn't manage to step inside, so I settled for slumping against the door frame and answered him from there.

"I was only gone for a night, Sammy. You make it seem like I was abducted by the feds or something." The smell inside the motel turned my stomach. _What the hell is that anyway? Pizza with ass? _They looked at me like I was nut job for standing outside in the dark. I took that as a good enough invitation as any.

My foot hit the threshold, and stopped. _What the…_I tried to edge into the room again, thinking that maybe I'd just tripped or something Crowley rolled his eyes and grabbed me by the collar. He pulled worse than a ten year old girl. Not only was I still stuck outside, but I was also starting to catch a whiff of the girls next door: two brunettes, one tall, one short, both wearing short skirts—in December—that had me thanking whoever it was in charge of Virginia's unseasonably warm weather. The short one sized me up, biting her lip once she got to my face in a way that made me grin and wink back. Her friend, who was clearly playing for the other team, because she wasn't even that into me, glared at me while trying to pull the tiny chick to a black and yellow convertible that would have looked even better with Tiny lying underneath me on the hood. She didn't budge though. Her friend and I watched her cock her head toward their room and mumble something I couldn't quite catch. She had pulse point going off all over the place. I didn't know whether to bang her or bite her, so I just took a step closer to my room, which was still sealed up, smiled, and nodded like I was really interested in what she had to say.

"You know," she overly-exaggerated bending down into the car, making sure that her skirt rode high up her legs, "we'll be back in our room by 2am. If you want to…talk…just knock twice and then come on in. I stay up _really_ late." She was like a living breathing 1-900 commercial, and I was seriously thinking about calling her on her offer.

But Mr. Serious was still brooding over the fact that I hadn't bothered to call. "…and now you just stand there flirting with some girl you just met like you can't even come inside and explain what's going on."

"Hey, I'd love to, okay? But the invisi-seal that you put up to keep me out is kinda preventing me from doing so." He jumped away from the computer so that we were standing face to face: him inside, me outside.

"I've been tearing my hair out, looking everywhere so that I could bring you home. I went back to the Victorian after I dealt with the shapeshifters, and you were nowhere to be found. Admit it! You took off again, just like the night you sold your soul to _him,_" he motioned to Crowley, who had managed to steal a bag of popcorn—at least I knew where the ass smell was coming from—and was popping kernels into his mouth one by one.

"King of Hell, Leader of the crossroads, Master of your fate," the demon wiggled his eye brows at me, "I'm still waiting for you to come through on your half of our agreement."

"You know what, Crowley? As soon as I break this seal, I'm gonna deck you square in the jaw." He rolled his eyes and watched Sam and me argue some more about how he didn't know what I was talking about, and why, if he hadn't done anything, I still couldn't walk into the room. All of a sudden, Bobby's eyes got real big.

"If you two would get your heads out of your asses for a second, I think I know what's going on." We waited for him to finish. "Who's name is this room in?" Neither of us knew what that had to do with why I couldn't get in, but we both answered.

"Sam's/Mine." We never used our real names when signing into a motel, but we owned the names that we used as if they were our own. We even had the fake IDs to prove it. Bobby whispered something into Sammy's ear that made him scrunch his face up like a five year old.

"What good will tha—?"

"Just do it, ya' idjut!" We were used to Bobby knowing more about situations than we did. We just weren't used to him knowing more about us than we did. Sam didn't look convinced that Bobby's direction was going to work, but he took it anyway.

"Come in, Dean."

"For the last frig—" my foot slid past the threshold this time, just like it had when we'd first signed into the room. Sam's breathing grew heaver. He too knew that something was wrong. I tried not to focus on the vein throbbing in his neck.

_Now, that you've gotten your invitation, you must kill the hunters and bring me my Rose._ The voice inside my head was deep and hypnotic; somewhat familiar, but I couldn't place it. All I knew was that I couldn't kill Sam. Beside the bed, an alarm clock with numbers that rolled down every minute ticked away my sanity. TICK. Thump. TICK. Thump. TICK. The only sounds I could hear were heartbeats and ticking. And the lights were so bright I couldn't see a damned thing.

"Please, please shut that off," Sam rushed over to the bed and sat on the other side of me. I think he asked me what was wrong, but I could barely hear him with the lights and the ticking and the heavy beating. "Shut that thing off! NOW!" Even with Bobby switching off the lights, I could still see everything in the room. TICK. Thump. TICK. Thump. TICK. The couple from the next door room banged against the wall in a fit of loud angry sex. TICK. Thump. Pound. TICK. Thump. Pound. TICK. I banged on the wall, "Shit! Keep it down!" And then I threw the clock into a corner.

_Kill him now! You don't have much time left. You must feed._

My head hung low in my hands: the burn wounds had healed as soon as the sun went down; thoughts flew past my eyes going a mile a minute. Sam was still trying to pry my hands from my face, still trying to get me to talk, and for the first time in four years, there was real concern in his voice. Yet I couldn't face him, because I wasn't sure how much longer I could fight off that voice that told me to drain my brother.

"I think you need to find Castiel," Bobby was tugging Sam away from me almost like he could tell that I was going to blow any minute. This whole time, it hadn't even occurred to me to call Cas. He hadn't been around much in these last four years, and not for lack of us calling. In fact, we'd phoned home more times than E.T. but he that didn't matter to him. Now that Sammy had gone top side, Cas didn't really have a reason to hang around Earth. So what made Bobby think that he'd just drop everything he was doing and pay us a visit now?

"I wouldn't even know where to find him," Sam was back at the computer, tapping at the keys. He was irritated at Bobby for clearly knowing more than he was willing to say. The old man just sighed and closed the curtains. Then, he reached over into travel kit loaded with everything from rope to liquid mercury. There wasn't a monster that he couldn't subdue with that thing, and I didn't like the way he was looking at me while he fingered a syringe.

"Cas!" I'll admit that now, I was starting to panic. "Cas, you get your feathery, halo-wearing ass down here now, goddamnit! Cas!" As usual nothing happened. Bobby was up behind me now, throwing the rope to Sam. Before I could even register what they were planning, a sharp prick stung me in the neck. Suddenly, I felt like I hadn't slept in weeks; my muscles weighed a ton.

"So nice of you to show up, Raphael," Crowley looked directly at me in a smug, _Don't say I never did anything for you _way. I had no idea what he was getting at. And then I was out like a light.

Coming in and out felt like finally coming off of a high. But the rope tying my arms to the headboard reminded me of an exorcism. How funny is it that Cas was there, arguing with Sam when I woke up?

"Listen, I am sorry that I cannot 'run' to 'you're' beck and call 'whenever' you 'need me' 'to.'" He was using air quotes in random places, "But things have not been, as you two would say, a bowl of cherries, up there either." Apparently, some douche wad from Cas's wonder years named Balthazar freed Raphael from the ring of fire and together, they're recruiting angels with guerilla tactics to rule Heaven. "I would appreciate if you all would not cry wolf with matters of such a dire nature," he directed this comment to Crowley, who waved him off.

Bobby stood in front of the angel, "These boys took a beating for us. They've risked their asses for the cause so many times, their graves are still warm, so the least you could do is have a look at him."

"I am protecting them," Cas moved closer to where I was tied to the bed, "I am keeping a safe distance so that they can live a somewhat normal life. What part of this concept escapes your understanding?" He looked down at me and froze. "Holy mother in Heaven!" His face was devoid of expression. _So what else was new?_ "Those veins underneath his eyes…You all might want to look away," he said to the others. To me, he placed a gag up to my lips, "This is going to be…unpleasant," then he dug his arm through my chest, digging around for God knows what. There was no telling what he'd find, but I did know one thing: Cas is a friggin' liar. Unpleasant didn't even come close to the excruciating pain of being violently "examined" as he put it. As he searched, flashes of memory started coming back to me: Luke's voice in the blue house, being chained in the nest. Klaus and his search from some chick named Rose, and finally, the big helping of vampire blood that he'd made me drink.

"It's worse than I thought," he finally slid his hands back down to his sides.

"What is it? Did he sell his soul?" Sam wanted to know.

"No, it's something worse."

"Well spit it out, Cas! You don't just tell somebody that they've got something, and then play keep away with the results." Sam was unusually, well, me-like at the moment.

Cas looked down at me sadly before answering, "Nothing. I found…nothing."

"Well that's a good thing right?" Bobby was on the edge of his seat. I hadn't seen him this wound up since Sam went down under.

"No," Cas was still keeping with the cryptic shit, "I mean, I could not find anything. No heartbeat. No pulse. No breath. Nothing, but bloodlust."

"So just what are you trying to say?" The kid was so scared I found myself trying to calm him down.

"I'm saying that he has been infected with the curse of the night prowler. Condemned to walk the Earth from sundown until the brink of dawn with an unquenchable thirst for human blood." He was confirming my worst fear, one that I'd known from the jump but couldn't admit, "I believe that your kind calls them…vampires."

"Well, well, well," Crowley got up from his seat, "looks like you boys have got your hands full here," he walked to the door and opened it. "By the way, True Blood, our deal still stands."

The next few hours were spent with me begging Bobby to kill me and Sam trying to calm me down.

"No one's killing anyone. We'll find a way out of this. I won't let you die, Dean. Not when you're just starting to…" he looked away guiltily.

"This isn't some sexed-up housewife's fantasy, okay Sam? I'm a full-on night crawling, neck sucking monster, and we've learned from Gordon Walker that this never ends well. It's either kill or be killed for me, so you'd better hurry up and take me out before I starting chewing on cheerleaders." He wasn't hearing me; he just kept insisting that I'd be okay as long as I didn't feed. "Who do you think I am?" I knew that I was pushing the limits, but I was on a slow ride back to Hell anyway, "You?" Yeah, so I'd never fully gotten over the whole Ruby blood sharing thing. Sue me!

"Dean, when are you ever going to forgive me for that?"

I rushed up to him in record time. "When you lay off me about St. Augustine." Bobby came up behind me with another shot-ful of Dead Man's Blood that had my head swimming in seconds.

The tranquilizer put me out cold, but even so, I could still hear the hours of research typed away on his lap top. I could hear how pissed he'd gotten when the sun came up, leaving him just as empty handed as the night before. He called all the contacts from dad's cell phone, before finally there was no one else to call.

"You don't have to do it you know," my voice was hoarse from hunger, "I can just walk out into the sun and end it. I won't make you kill me, Sammy. I won't do that to you." He looked up from whatever he was copying off his computer and grabbed his phone.

"I told you, Dean. I'm not letting you die." He took his phone and the piece of paper to the can.

"What are you doing?"

"You've been protecting me my whole life. Let me look after you for once." He closed the door like there was nothing I could do but listen, which, being tied to the bed again, was true. "I'm sorry to call so early in the morning," he spoke into the phone, "it's just that...well I really need your help. I know that you have some experience dealing with the supernatural..." The voice on the other line was husky but definitely female. He wasn't really the social type these days, and every other female that could help us had either died or sworn off hunting. So, I was a little weary of who he was telling our problems to, but he seemed to trust this chick pretty well. Almost too well. In fact, it was like he knew just the right thing to say to get her to help him. "No, no we've never officially met, but...just consider me a friend of a friend."


	9. DON'T DREAM IT'S OVER

**A/N: **As promised, I'm back. And I skipped studying yesterday so that I could get this chapter to you all on time, so I hope that you like it. Although, I personally feel that it is crap, because it's really just a filler. I want to thank **SyLaR'sMEmoRyGuRL** for her enthusiatic review. I am so sorry for the wait, but I wanted to express the right amount of angst without being overly emo, out of character, or bitchy. I hope that I succeeded. **Candeygirl490s**, you are such a sweetie to favorite this story. Feel free to drop me a line or two. Finally, I have a very special thank you to two readers, the first one is **KivaJayelle** who actually, hasn't even started on this story yet. She's currently on _A Million Ways_, but she's reviewed every chapter that she's read so far and I'm loving the reviews. They are always so very thoughtful and it makes me remember why I started writing this story. Lastly, but in no way least, thank you to **TheSouthernScribe**. She is partially the reason why some of you readers are here. Thank you so much for supporting this story. You've been with me from the beginning of _AMWtSMtH_ and you continue to send your thoughful reviews and your readers my way. Thank you so much!

**Disclaimer: **I own none of this, but the dream sequence is again my own. Now, let's get on with it shall we?

DON'T DREAM IT'S OVER

Bonnie's POV

_My bare feet scraped through blades of grass while the sky bears witness to my imprisonment. All around me, hedges hold hands, forming a labyrinth that can only belong to a place that claims youth with the grip of death. A place that can only be described as the Salvatore boarding house. Suddenly, the branches reach out for me. Pulling at my clothes, grabbing at my hair, clutching at my skin, daring me not to be scared, and it's all I can do not to scream aloud, because this place turns out not to be the boarding house at all. Limbs continue to clutch their boney fingers at the air, knowing that I'm surrounded by shadows from which I can only run. And I do. I run like Hell's after me—because maybe it is—until I reach a clearing in the brush that spills out into a vast ocean of figures wearing cloaks as black as the sky._

_"Bonnie, if I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times: you cannot escape your destiny," Gram's voice was all around me now, overriding the plague of ghostly beings moving stiffly before me. But she wasn't one of them. She was the night itself. I could literally feel her breath inside of the wind. See her nurturing stare twinkle beside the stars. Still, she wasn't here. Not really anyway. And it was going to be a cold day in Hell before I stepped anywhere near the plague of grim reapers. She was just going to have to do her damnedest to deal with that. _

_"Bonnie Michelle Bennett! You will mind both your language and your thoughts with me, young lady. I don't care if this is your dream or not! Now get out there and face what lies ahead." She hadn't changed a bit. It was hopeful, like death didn't own her. Like death really was what she had always boasted: a transition from one state of immortality to another._

_"But Grams, haven't I lost enough? Haven't I seen enough demise for one lifetime?" Even the figures seemed to be waiting for answer. Pacing and waiting. Waiting and anticipating an answer to why I had to follow death when it had always done so well at following me._

_"I didn't raise you to live in fear, child," her voice cupped my face like her hands had done so many times before, "None of the Bennett witches have ever just lain down and let love die. So, open your heart and follow it."_

_A wind picked up, flapping the hoods away from a sea of skeletal faces and empty eye sockets that bored into my thoughts. I was losing my mind right before their blank eyes; so confused but fully aware that I was running out of time. "But how am I going to find my way out of all this?" _

_"As with all other problems in life, the only way out is the way through," her voice was just a breeze now, followed by a final crack of thunder, "Let her pass!" And the figures parted, allowing me to step into their world._

_I walked amongst the breathless and the silent, asking no questions. They locked the answers to those questions inside themselves as if they were made of more solid things, instead of bones and secrets. As if Grams was still watching and they were afraid of her wrath. Instead, they carry on forward, commanded by a presence that is as wise as it is old. I can almost feel her heat transform into someone else. Fiery, passionate, committed, familiar, damaged, scared, jaded, and dead. Death. That's what it feels like now. Death. They are following a Death that is as alive as me. We are following Death, walking in circles where there is nothing to turn to except your own solitude, and nowhere to run but the bowels of a large black palace atop the hill that crowned this Purgatory._

_Its large, wooden doors open without me, neither asking for my permission, nor waiting for me to give it. I could feel that this was it. The moment that would signal a change in the tides. A resurgence of a storm that had held me at bay for seven years. It felt like seven lifetimes ago. I followed the deep red carpet past the foyer. Through a dark, dark parlor. Down a dark, dark hallway that lead to a dark, dark room where I met my fate. She was waiting for me, draped in a white cloak that signified Purgatory's most valuable soul. _

"_Who are you?" I didn't dare step into the room. Speaking had been difficult enough. Womanly hands pulled the cloak back just enough for me to see her face. It was the face of an angel who had given birth to the cause of my damnation. I had to be careful now, or I was sure I'd crave the burn of his lips on my skin. Her familiar green eyes that shined between fiery golden curls met mine like she knew for whom I was thinking, wishing, and waiting. She opened her mouth, uttering two words that, though I'd heard them in dreams from lifetimes before, cut me deeper than any knife ever could. And then…_

**I keep bleeding.**

**I keep, keep bleeding love.**

…the sound of my ring tone startled me awake.

"There you are Bonnie, one medium mocha cappuccino on the house," Matt was still dressed in his coat and gloves, hair disheveled from the freezing early morning wind. He'd looked surprised to see me standing in front of the locked Grill entrance this morning, clutching my cell phone with stiff hands that trembled, and the feeling had been mutual. Ever since he took ownership of the Mystic Grill, Matt wasn't around much, and when he did bother to show up to the restaurant, he spent most of his time in the "Employees Only," area, mulling over financial statements and floor plans. There were blue and purple bags underneath his eyes that carried the weight of a million restless worries, and I envied the fact that, even so, they were still smaller than my own. Yet, at least he had a place to hide those worries. What I wouldn't give to be able to seclude myself behind a "Witch's Only" sign, lay my head in Grams' lap, and have her stroke my hair while I drank in the scent of her fresh Vervain tea. To have her tell me that everything was going to be okay, and know that it truly was, because, well, Grams never said anything that she didn't completely have faith in. Even more, I wanted to be that witch: the one with skilled fingers that could mold the same amount of perfection out of an acai summoning ritual as I could with Andouille sausages and bacon grease roux. But for now, I guess I'd just have to settle with watered down caffeine and childhood confidants. "Are you sure you don't want something stronger?" He wanted to know.

"Why do you ask?" Before now, my mind had been moving on auto pilot, replaying both my nightmare and the phone call that had interrupted it. Now, Matt had my attention.

"I don't know. You just look like you could use a shot of something more intense." He held up a tiny glass bottle of gin and waited while I weighed my options. On one hand, what was a drink between old friends, especially when one of them had barely gotten two hours of sleep the previous night? Rose's condition was getting worse by the hour. She couldn't keep anything down. Human blood. Animal substitutes. You name it, Stefan's bed was covered in it. After two hours of pacing and heavy drinking in our bedroom, Damon had finally grabbed a fresh set of bed sheets and announced that he'd be spending the rest of the night at her bedside.

"Try not to fly off into a jealous rage while I'm gone." His smirk didn't have its usual cockiness to it, because this Damon in front of me wasn't his usual cocky, asshole self. He was drained, conflicted between leaving me to sleep alone, and leaving her to die alone. So, I made the choice for him by mentally pushing him in Stefan's room and slamming the door behind him.

When Rose wasn't doubled over in pain, she drifted between a paranoid reality and a dream world that Damon had created for her out of his own imagination. How ironic was it that the only time she found peace in either world was when he held her in his arms. So, yeah, I was definitely tempted to take Matt up on his offer to drink the day away. On the other hand, though, it was only seven o' clock in the morning, and my name was not Damon Salvatore. "No, coffee's fine. I just need something to pick me up before Elena and Caroline get here with the details for Care's engagement party tomorrow night."

His hands stopped in midair over the liquor bottles. "Caroline's coming?" I shook my head in reply, not wanting to call him on the sick look he was pulling. _Hadn't she been avoiding him the last time we were all here, too? What the hell is up with these two? _I happily let myself get lost in their issues for a second. _The way they've been acting, you'd think that he was appraising more than just the Grill's assets._ His fingers rested atop a bottle of something dark. "Well, um…if you need anything, I'll be in the basement," he picked up the bottle and headed toward the back of the restaurant, but not before mumbling, "I guess I'm the one who'll be needing something a little stronger."

Caroline and Elena arrived forty-five minutes and two refills later. By now, all of the employees had started their shifts, and even though there still weren't any customers, they didn't seem to have a problem with serving me shot after shot of espresso, I was working on my fifth one when the girls pulled up a couple of stools beside me.

"Alcohol for breakfast? Honestly Bonnie, this isn't _Jersey Shore_. Now personally, I prefer sex for breakfa—"

"Shut the hell up Caroline. It's just coffee," I knew that I was being uncharacteristically bitchy today, but I was in no mood for her nonsense. The more I thought about that phone call and how it had come just moments after the cloaked woman from my dreams urged me to once again play Witch to the Rescue, the more undecided I was about agreeing to meet "a friend of a friend" in person. My whole body tingled with nerves made worse by the numerous caffeine boosts. It was as if my body knew who this mystery friend was even if though my mind hadn't fully accepted it yet.

"Wow! Who peed in your soup this morning?" Caroline wasn't really upset. She was so high off her wedding plans, that the whole town could have suddenly start raining blood and she wouldn't have given a damn about anything else but salmon croquette hors d'oeuvres and expensive champagne. That was the one reason that Elena and I valued Caroline so much, especially during times like these. She was incredibly shallow, but it kept us rooted in normalcy. "Oooh, speaking of pee, I have to go to the little girls room. Don't talk about anything interesting until I get back." She bounced off in the direction of the restrooms, leaving me to Elena's interrogation.

"Bonnie, how many of those have you had?" She noticed how shaky my hands were and signaled the waiter with a neck-slashing motion so that he would know I had apparently reached Elena's limit on coffee consumption. That suspicion was confirmed when she noticed the three cappuccino chasers that lay to my left. She pushed them away from me as well; then grabbed my hands in hers. "I take it that Rose isn't doing too well?" I shook my head. I wanted to tell her about the call, but for now, it seemed safer to let her think that Rose was the only one causing my grief. The first customers of the day: regulars who pretty much drank from morning light until the middle of the night, walked in and took a seat three chairs down from us. We moved to a booth by the window and lowered our voices.

"Rose is throwing up so much blood, its drying her out. She's starting to look like one of those tomb vampires," Elena chuckled away some of the tension as I filled her in on our night with her. "Damon doesn't think she'll make it through another night, and if she does…" Elena pulled me into a hug that said, _He's going to need you more than ever if he has to stake her. _So much for taking my mind off the stress. I felt even worse about the phone call than I had before. He had enough to deal with.

She must have sensed the change in me, because she pulled back a little. "You're not telling me everything, are you?" If ever there was someone that I could take my problems to, it was Elena. Back when our only problems were braces and school dances, Elena was there to rescue me from a lifetime of junior high humiliation due to an unfortunate accident involving what Caroline refers to as "the curse of the crimson tide." Four years later, we had entered our junior year which brought more bloodshed than any curse Mother Nature could issue. And when I'd found out about my powers, Elena was the first person I told. She knew me so well she could even predict my moods. The only thing she didn't know was their cause.

"I…I had another dream about her last night. Just like the ones I had when you were trapped in the tomb.

"The one's where she begs you to save him?" _The one and only, _I shook my head. She was about to reply when Caroline hopped back to our table demanding to be let into the conversation. We disbanded so that she could overwhelm us with yellow taffeta and lacey white parasols. Elena rolled her eyes and took out her cell phone, fingers moving a mile a minute.

A vibration on my hip sent my powers into a frenzy—something that always happened when my emotions ran high, because I hadn't bothered to learn how to control them or practice my craft—that send my glass crashing to the floor. It was a message from Elena, who was currently trying not to blatantly yawn over Caroline's wedding notebook filled with laminated flow charts. Her eyes nearly crossed when the blond flipped to a page involving wide brimmed floral hats. With real flowers. And giant bows! The theme of Caroline's wedding? You guessed it. Gone with the Wind.

I texted Elena back: **I don't know what the dream means. **That wasn't a complete lie. I didn't know what it meant, but I had a pretty good feeling that I was about to find out.

"As my handmaidens in waiting—"

"Bridesmaids," Elena automatically corrected.

"As my _handmaidens in waiting_, your jobs will not only be to show up for every rehearsal, but you will also be in charge of tying my corset before the wedd—" she stopped dead in her tracks. Elena and I had obviously been doing a poor job at hiding our lack of focus, because in an instant, she grabbed Elena's phone. "Oh my God, Elena! Why are you such a little attention whore?" The place was getting crowded now. There were at least four booths occupied, not to mention a group of college kids playing a very intense game of pool in the corner. Caroline didn't seem to care that all eyes were now on us. "I'm having the biggest meltdown of my life and you two are more concerned with," she looked back down at Elena's text, "Bonnie's little sex dreams?" She was hysterical. A waiter ran to the back, more than likely in order to ask Matt how to deal with the girl's tantrum. Elena and I looked at each other for a minute, silently debating whether to tell her about the supernatural side of Mystic Falls where we dwelled or leave her in the land of chicken entrees and extravagant bouquets where she belonged. "You guys are always leaving me out!" She wined.

"Care, we're not trying to exclude you," Elena put her hand on Caroline's, "it's just that…um…"

"It's just that we don't want you to get hurt."

"You mean, you don't want me to get involved with your precious vampires," I forgot that she'd been there when Stefan and I overheard Dean talking about Katherine in his apartment, "well I've got news for you two: I'm already involved. Did you two forget that I'm engaged to a werewolf?" She had a point, but I still wasn't comfortable with putting her in danger. It was just too risky. Elena, on the other hand, nudged me in the ribs, prodding me to tell her about the dreams. And then the whole story poured out: the Christmas cards, Rose's worsening condition, Klaus, my dreams of women bathed in fire, and the phone call that ended it. No one spoke for at least five minutes after the story ended. What else was there to say?

"Wait a minute," Caroline scratched her head with a pink highlighter, "you let Damon sleep with another woman while you made plans to meet your ex's brother? Are you on crack?" She was referring to the fact that I had made Damon spend his night tending to Rose's illness. Or maybe she was questioning why I'd agreed to meet someone who was possibly the brother of a man that wanted me dead. At least, that was who my witch's intuition was telling me "a friend of a friend was;" witch's intuition was rarely wrong.

"Caroline, she hasn't heard from him in seven years. You're getting her worked up over nothing. B., the caller was probably just one of your students." I wondered if Elena actually believed that, because she didn't look like it. Yet, I also knew how she felt about Dean. She'd rather I stay with Damon, which is really saying something considering how much she hated him.

"The cards were from the same person, and she's been getting them for six years. We hadn't even graduated from high school then, so how could the call be from one of her students?" Caroline's excitement drove the young waiter to find Matt again, and I somewhat wished that he would just kick us out already, because now, my two best friends were arguing over whether I should meet the mystery caller who could be Sam. Elena made the point that Damon had rescued me after Dean's departure drove me to the point of depression. Caroline countered that Dean didn't know what his leaving would do to me. That he'd left so that he wouldn't hurt me; and Damon only stuck around because he couldn't be left alone. Both points were very true and completely pissing me off. The ceiling fan above our heads shook because of it. I had to intervene soon or I'd explode.

"Look, Moms number one and two, I appreciate the concern, but I'm meeting whoever this is tomorrow before the engagement party, once and for all. I'll tell Damon that I'm meeting a student, listen to what this person has to say, and then send him back where he came from. Nothing more. Nothing less. Care, can I borrow your black corset?" She perked up, clearly willing to do anything to help team Bonnie/Dean, even though none of us were sure that the call had had anything to do with him. The brunette Bonnie/Damon cheerleader beside me couldn't let it go though.

"If it's so innocent, then why won't you tell Damon? And why do you need Care's slutty black corset?" Elena protested, but I ignored both girls in favor of grabbing my purse.

"Well, I think that it's a great idea, Bonnie. You were never really the same after he left, and you need closure. Or maybe he'll open you up," Caroline smiled evilly before whispering, "But just make sure that if you two decide to discuss things in more…depth…that you break things off with Damon first," her eyes flickered toward the bar where Matt was trying to calm his staff, "or you might end up doing something you really regret." I was starting to think that her advice had had something to do with Matt's early morning drinking. The waiters brought his attention to our table, and Caroline shot out of the booth with Elena and I in tow.

That's when I bumped into him. He was about the same height and build as Damon, but carried himself with less flamboyance. This man didn't need to convince himself that he was dangerous by feasting on sorority girls and ripping football coaches to pieces. His issue was trying to convince others that he _wasn't_ dangerous. Even his facial features were terrifying, but not because they were unattractive. Actually, they were quite the opposite, and he drew attention everywhere he went. However, within that attention, he could smell the fear that he elicited. And that's what made him so unnerving, because he could smell fear, and he liked it. Our arms brushed together, transferring centuries of bloodshed that buzzed from him to me, making him smile a little. He knew that I had seen through him; he enjoyed the challenge of being exposed.

"Pardon my rudeness, but I couldn't help overhearing the dilemma with your friend," his voice was quiet and deliberate. I wasn't a fool though. We hadn't bumped into each other by chance. He was on a mission. He placed a tiny vial of clear liquid into my hands; his touch made me flinch. "Please make sure that your friend drinks this Wolf's Bane. This will weaken the effects of the bite until her system can fight it off on its own. It's very important to me that she lives."

My stomach lurched. "Elijah!" He chuckled at my gasp, grabbing my arm so I couldn't back away. "You stay away from Elena or I'll drive a stake through your heart myself!"

His eyebrows momentarily knit up. Then they fell back into their normal place. "Oh right, the Petrova doppelganger. She really is quite a jewel," I narrowed my eyes, preparing to give him a head splitting aneurism. The arm that had been doing such a great job of keep me from leaving tightened its grip. "But not exactly the hot commodity that I once believed her to be. And now with Katerina dead…" he fixed me with blank brown eyes, "…Rose on the other hand, is truly the last of her kind."

"What do you mean?" I could hear Grams' voice inside my head, telling me to face what lies ahead.

"Just make sure that she drinks this as soon as possible," he pointed to the Wolf's Bane, "and get her to shelter. Klaus has sent a new vampire to find Rose and I'm afraid that he already has a direct link to her."

I was scared as hell. I could admit that now, but I was also a Bennett witch, and as Grams had graciously reminded me: the one thing we didn't do was take things lying down. Damon cared about Rose. I cared about Damon. Which meant that I cared about Rose too. So I took a deep breath and asked the one question I knew Elijah was dying to answer, "How?"

"Through you," he bent down to kiss my hand. "I'll be seeing you very soon, Bonnie." In the next blink, I was alone.


	10. HIGHWAY TO HELL

**A/N: **You all are too much with your reviews. Seriously, thank you all so very much. **SyLaR'sMEmoRyGuRL **I definitely want to hear more of your thoughts and ideas. I even modeled your mattress line in this chapter. **TheSouthernScribe**, I think that you have more confidence in my writing than I do, but I'm glad to have you in my corner, and I plan to show some major consequences for Dean's return on Bamon's relationship. Also, thank you to **gosteadyonme** and **LadyHan **for alerting this story. It means a lot. Now before we get to it, I have to tell you two things. First off, this chapter is long. But that's not what I have to tell you. One, it's long because it not only deals with the Bonnie/Sam meeting, but it also deals with part of a situation that changes Dean's life four years ago (this will coincide with a situation that changes Bonnie's life four years ago that I'll describe in detail in her chapter coming up). Two, I just realized that this story will probably be over twenty chapters. I am so sorry to keep you guys hanging on for that long, and I try to make the chapters as long as possible, but I can't possibly wrap this up in under twenty. Twenty one is actually pushing it, but hopefully no more than twenty-five.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing, but given the amount of grief (and hours worth of studying that I missed trying to make this chappy perfect), I really should start getting some of their ratings money. Ha ha. Just kidding. Your reviews are enough payment. Now, let's get on with it, shall we?

HIGHWAY TO HELL

Dean's POV

"So, you wanna run this plan by me again in a way that doesn't sound friggin' nuts?" The sun had finally set about ten minutes ago, making it officially safe for everything that lurked in the dark— including me now—to go outside. Sam threw our bags into the trunk along with a cooler filled with fruit and muffins that he'd stolen from an iffy-looking continental buffet this morning after breaking the news that the woman he'd contacted yesterday was an anthropology and folklore professor who lived two hours away from here. Supposedly, he'd heard about a couple of hunts the professor had been involved in during her Girl Scout days and wanted to get her opinion on my situation, which, honestly, didn't stand a snow ball's chance of actually working since there was no possible way that she could relate to "my situation." I didn't care how many monsters she'd tried to stake. Getting an A in Vampire Studies 101 wouldn't make her an expert any more than eating real food would make me human again. That was just a fact.

I sat the bags back onto the unmade bed and watched him check through empty drawers we never used for a mind that he'd clearly lost, in an attempt to stall for time. Out of all the things he'd chosen to stall for, time was probably the one thing that was on my side right now, but I didn't want to wait for an eternity for an answer, while he struggled with reattaching a door I'd accidently ripped off its hinges. I wanted to get the hell out of here. This place was operated like the Bate's Motel, complete with suspicious red shower stains and a Norman type running the front desk. If we hadn't been in such a hurry, I would have made Sam stay an extra night so we could check for stuffed grannies in the attic, but we didn't have an extra day. All we had was right now, so he had better start talking. "Sam!"

He sighed and reached for bags that he was too slow to grab from my grasp. Sweat was starting to work its way to his pores, preparing me for yet another round of cagey half-answers that really only left me with more questions. "I told you, I just want to talk to her. She's really studied this stuff and—"

"So, you're expecting me to give over the keys to my car so you can take me to some grey-haired broad with her nose up some book? Nice. Real, nice," he shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the next, "So, tell me something, who would you have called if I'd been bitten by a werewolf, huh? The lunch lady?" Lines formed between his eyes the way it always did when he didn't agree with the way I was handling things. For the last four years, those lines had practically etched themselves into his damn skin permanently, and I knew that it was nearly a miracle that he was even speaking to me after some of the shit I'd pulled. The part of me that wasn't terrified of giving in to the voice inside my head that kept tempting me to rip his throat open felt for the kid. After all, it wasn't so long ago that I was the one dialing up trouble while he fought to repair all the bridges I'd burned. But I wasn't sure if that sane part of me was strong enough to spend two hours in a car with him without ending his life. I just wasn't. To be honest, I'd barely been strong enough to sleep in the same room with him without having thoughts that made my stomach weak, because I could already see myself reaching down his throat and yanking his heart out. No. It was better if he just took off and let me die. Because there was no way I could ever forgive myself if I let that voice win. Hell, I was having a hard enough time forgiving myself for letting Crowley's cap control me all those years ago.

**-THEN-**

"So what's on our agenda for today, Sammy?" I was feeling pretty good that day. It was the first day back on the road since Crowley's cap had put a new pep in my step and I couldn't wait to test it out. Add that to the fact that we had a full tank of gas and a six pack in the cooler, and I tell you, life just didn't get any better than that. Sam held a high tech cell phone up to his scrunched up face and tried to pretend like he couldn't understand why the damn thing wasn't logging onto the one of his many internet news sites. Like the fact that we were in the middle of nowhere with zero cell reception hadn't even occurred to him. I slapped the steering wheel, getting amped up by speakers that advertised nothing but easy living on a freeway headed straight for the Devil's playground while Sam gave up and fished a newspaper out of the glove compartment. We were finally getting back to our roots: hunting the evil bitches that some reserved only for nightmares, burning their remains, and dancing on empty graves. It was a welcomed change to the way I'd spent the previous three years of my life: crying like a chick just because things weren't going well until I'd finally taken to choking down coffee, Jack, and No-Doze shakes. Now, I took the rotten stench that accompanied this life as just another battle scar that came with the territory. And scars I could do well.

"Says here, that a young preschool teacher in Lincolnville came down with Scarlet Fever after she reported being attacked one evening in her classroom," I was glad that he was thinking outside the box for our cases, but it just didn't seem like our kind of problem.

"Color me skeptic, Sam, but doesn't that seem a little out of our jurisdiction to you? I mean, this seems more like a job for the feds than us." _Not that they'd ever lent us the same courtesy when they screwed up our cases. _The way his face lit up told me that I was in for a long lecture that more than likely contained a history lesson. The story went like this: Lincolnville was a suburb of St. Augustine, Florida, which according to him, was widely accepted as a breeding ground for Casper and other Ripley's escapees. When we'd first starting hunting twelve years ago, this would have been type of case that we went for, but I had a deal to uphold now, which meant that we were on to bigger, and meaner things. This teacher was just going to have to fight Scarlet Fever on her own.

"Look, you're the one who made a deal with the new Devil on the block, not me. So, if you don't want to make the trip then that's fine, but I just think you should take into consideration that a place with that many hauntings may be the portal to Purgatory that we're looking for." We were heading out of Tallahassee. I could either head north or keep travelling the Florida coast.

His grin turned into a smirk when he saw me merge onto the interstate, toward the coastline. "Fine, we'll check it out. What hospital is this chick at, anyway?"

"Um…well actually, she checked out a few days ago, and I really don't think that her family is going to be receptive to letting us interview them at her memorial service. But I was thinking that we'd interview the sister of one of her students instead." This was about as close to a wild goose chase as we could possibly get. Something I really couldn't afford. Bobby and Sam had called me every name in the book for agreeing to find Crowley's key to Purgatory, but they didn't know what was at stake if I didn't. Who he would take back if I didn't. _Damnit! I knew I should have kept straight!_

"Why, was she one of the nurses on call, or something?" I would have taken anything at this point.

"No, but she was also attacked a couple of days ago, after she supposedly snuck out and left her four year old sister at home alone." These still sounded like your average, run-of-the-mill crime sprees to me, but it was probably the only lead that we were going get for a while.

The sister, Pilar Sanchez, was a sixteen year old girl who lived in a cookie-cutter house with her sister, Jessica, and their parents, who were rarely home. They were the typical suburban family: pictures of smiling kids on the wall, Spanish decorations hanging around the room, and polished wood floors. Yet, Pilar, it turned out, lived anything but a typical suburban lifestyle.

"You two don't look like any cops I've ever seen." From the moment we'd flashed our badges and walked into the carpeted living room, the girl's eyes hadn't left Sam once. I asked her what she thought cops should look like, causing her to blush a little.

"Old, fat," her eyes moved from Sam's shoes to his face, "short," the girl pushed some of her hair over her face so we couldn't see her cheeks light up.

"Yes, well, we deal with special cases like yours." That snapped her out of whatever teenage fantasy she and Sam were fulfilling in her head. Clearly, Juno didn't want to talk about what had happened to her, but that wasn't an option that I was going to allow. Hair touches. Subtle glances into the corner. These were all signs that a person had something to hide, and she had used both of them in the last ten seconds alone.

"I've been around a long time, Ms. Sanchez, so I can spot a lie before it even comes out. That little hair flip you just did lets me know that you were about to lie to us. You left little sis to fend for herself and now you're trying to cover your tracks, because you don't want your parents to find out." Maybe Sam was concerned with coddling this little brat's feelings, but I wanted to get to the chase: she was hiding something.

"Ex-ex-excuse me?" She blinked twice.

"Um, what my partner is trying to say is that we're not interested in telling your parents. We just want to get to the bottom of whatever caused your attack so that other young women can stay safe." That was Sam for you, always the peacemaker.

The girl complained about not feeling comfortable giving us information while I was in the room. She said I made her nervous; she had no idea how right she was to feel that way. Sam promised her that I would face away from her and keep quiet. "Well, you're going to think that this is crazy," the girl started, "but right before I left to meet my boyfriend, my sister Jessie kept telling me to check under her bed for La Llorona." Neither one of us followed her on this one, and we'd fought some pretty screwed up crap. "In my culture, parents try to keep their children from straying off by warning them with tales of La Llorona. Then a couple of weeks ago, Jessie, walked in on me and my B.F. right before we were about to…um…study, and she told me that if I let him touch me, La Llorona would kill me. I never believed that she was real, but…" Curly hair went flying as she tried to shake the thought out of her head. "…and I could have sworn that I'd heard a woman crying…" She wasn't making a bit of sense. "…but that would mean that…and that's impossible…"

I couldn't help but turn around then, "Pilar, is there someone else that we can talk to? Someone who may have been there when both you and the teacher were attacked?"

"Um…not that I know of, but you could try my sister. She won't shut up about that damn teacher. It's all she ever talks about. Well, that and La Llorona. Oh, and duendes." She popped a piece of gum into her mouth, offering Sam the other half.

"Duen-what?" I could barely pronounce half of the things she was naming. She completely ignored me, answering Sammy as if he were the one who'd asked her the question.

"They were in a bedtime story I read to her last week," she got up and led us down the hall to a small door where we could hear a tiny, high pitched voice talking to someone named Mr. Pickles. "She's been obsessing about them ever since." We asked if we could talk to her. "Good luck. She hardly ever talks to anyone besides me. It's always been that way." She was right about that, which was unfortunate, because the little girl was just the person that we had come to see.

"More tea Mrs. Pumpernickel?" The little girl held out a small white cup.

Sam looked at me from underneath a blue and white wicker hat, clip on earrings slapping him in the jaw in the process. "Dude, I think she's talking to you." Jessica stared at me, waiting with a cup in her hands for me to take it. _Since when did we become Mrs. Doubtfire? _I wondered, taking the cup from her small hands.

"Now, Jessica—"

"Mrs. Ladybug!" The kid had a set of lungs that could have peeled the paint off the walls.

"Okay…Mrs….Ladybug," I tried again, "can you tell us what happened to your teacher last week? Your sister tells us that you think it may have been…" I looked at Sam for some help with the pronunciation.

"Your sister told us about the duend-ermphs," before he could finish, Jessica stuffed a plastic cookie into his mouth.

"Have some gingerbread Mrs. Butterscotch," The whole thing would have been funny had we not been sitting in chairs that were a foot and a half too small.

Pilar stood in the background, laughing. "Jessie, tell these nice men what you told sissy about the duendes? Can you do that?"

"I told Mrs. Escatel about the things in the wall but she didn't believe me." She'd moved on to trying to stuff Play Doh into a stuffed bear's face, signifying the end of the conversation. The whole thing looked like a kid with an overactive imagination who'd read too many fairytales, but something still didn't smell right about this. Something that, after hours of research tapped away on Sam's computer, along with a little help from Bobby, pointed right to the little girl herself.

**-NOW-**

I was willing to own up to all the horrible shit I'd done in that damn place and how it had paved the way to Klaus's door, but running off to some broad in bifocals wasn't the way to go. "She's more than just a professor. She's…" He looked like he wanted to come clean about something, but settled for grabbing the bags and walking toward the door, calling from over his shoulder as he opened it, "…she's gifted, okay? Now can we leave, please? I told her that we'd meet her at this bar in two hours."

Radio stations and the cities that played them bled into each other before he finally spoke up again. "Listen, Dean, before we get to this bar, there's something I have to tell you," I turned around just in time to see him hold his hand up, "and I know you're not going to like what I have to say, but…well it's not like you won't find out soon anyway." I didn't like where this was going. My gut clenched and released, making me really regret that gas station hot dog from two stops ago. I waited for him to fill me in, "This professor isn't just an expert in the field of folklore. She's actually somewhat of an expert on…" he ran his hands through his hair. Up ahead, we were approaching a town. I could tell by the welcome banner that hung above the city limit. We were almost close enough for me to make out what it said.

"She's somewhat of an expert on what? Come on Sammy, spit it out!"

"She's somewhat of an expert on…on you," The sign was in full view now, waving back in forth like it was some lame ass tourist attraction that people shelled out cash to find instead of a hellhole chock-full of walking neck feeders. It was all starting to add up now: the comments about her being "gifted," those Christmas cards I caught him buying every year. Somewhere along the way, he'd taken it upon himself to play Mr. Clean and mop up all the shit I'd left in this town before I took off, but this time he'd gone too far. Scared or not, we weren't going down this road again! Welcome to Mystic Falls.

"Pull over," To him, we were still sixty miles from town, which gave me plenty of time to kick his ass. "Pull over!"

_Yes, Dean! Drain the boy dry! _That damned voice was back, clawing at my skull. Making the skin under my eyes break out in veins and my throat burn like hell. Sam kept driving, while I stuck myself with more Dead Man's Blood. It wasn't enough as he probably would have given me but it calmed the voice down enough for me to try and reason with both Sam and myself.

"Look, Sammy…things didn't exactly end in hugs and kisses when I left. She'll probably take one look at you and run screaming."

"You," he kept his eyes on the road the whole time he explained, "She'll probably take one look at _you_ and run the other way. She doesn't even know me though." He had a point. She had nothing to worry about where Sam was concerned. So why did I feel like this visit would end just like my last stay in Mystic Falls had: in blood.

As soon as we pulled up to the Mystic Grill, I spotted Green Eyes through the window, sucking on a piece of lime and not looking all that unlike the first day we met. Back then, she was all about keeping her friends close and her enemies closer, welcoming the sorry bastards that came along and blurred those lines, because they made her job that much more satisfying. As for it getting any easier, well that was something that neither of us could relate to; not like we'd related to each other, anyway. I couldn't tell you what had made her look up from the ice cubes rolling around inside her glass and put her trust in a complete stranger that night. My guess was that she liked the excitement that came with sleeping with the enemy—who didn't?—even if that same enemy may come back looking for blood one day. Or maybe, she was just that cocky, taking confidence to a whole new level in a way that only witchcraft could. Because, she wanted a cheap thrill and was banking on the fact that I couldn't tell it from the real thing. But for me, it was all in the way she looked. Like Cassie, but with a far off glare in her eyes that said, "Keep the drinks coming 'cause I could be here for a while," and I should have just left on the spot. Left before the girl with Cassie's face became distinguishable all on her own. I should have left right before she tipped the glass to her soft lips and drank its bitterness straight. Smells like that bitterness still ran through her veins. If memory served me correctly though, _she _was the one who'd found a new enemy to share her mattress with, not me. At least not while that Katherine bitch's blood was still wet on my damn clothes. _That's right, Green Eyes. You're not the only one who came out of that situation with bad blood._

"That her?" Sam nodded to the brunette at the bar; shaking away my thoughts of how different she seemed with straight hair.  
"Yeah," was all I could say. Only, now that I looked closer, I wasn't so sure that that was the right answer. She looked just like every other girl I'd ever picked up from a bar, and then forgotten about the next day. Like she'd actually made an effort to look that good, and was enjoying knowing that every damn guy within a two mile radius would be jacking off to her memory in their dreams. It was enough to make me miss the eighteen year old version of herself who drove me crazy with just one flip of her hair. But I had to thank Cas for the one in front of us, because this chick didn't have half of what had hooked me all those years ago. This new Green Eyes wasn't going to be any trouble at all.

She eyed the liquor bottles behind the bar darkly. I'd almost forgotten how much she drank when she was upset, or how bossy and impatient she could be. She must have been waiting here for a while, because she was going at it light—mostly ice cubes and tonic water—but I could feel her getting ready to snap her fingers for something stronger at any second. "Alright, Gandhi, let's get this over with," the way Sam had been staring at her, you'd think she'd just taken her top off. Now he was pulling this deer-caught-in-headlights routine, and he looked pretty freaked.

"Dean, you do know that you can't go in there, right?" This was honestly the first I'd heard about me staying behind, but he had to know I wouldn't go for it. True, I didn't even want to be here in the first place. I'd been perfectly ready to let the sun rise and dust myself, only he wanted to try the witchcraft route first. So I let him drag me here, but I sure as hell wasn't going to let him shut me in the car like a one of the salt guns. He knew better than that. "Look, you said it yourself; things didn't end very well between the two of you. So maybe it's better if I go in and smooth things over a bit before you run up to her, baring your fangs, okay?"

I still thought that this was a bad idea but agreed against my better judgment, "Fine, but make it quick. I'm getting hungry."

His face got all nervous like it did every time I mentioned being hungry now. It was like he thought I was going to pull an Ozzy and start biting the heads off of bats and shit. Finally, he recovered, and agreed to bring me a cold one when he got back. "Hey, bring me back some nachos too, will ya?" Last night, we found research claiming that eating normal food helps new vamps curb their cravings. So far, I'd eaten five large pizzas, and a whole bang load of crap from the fill-up station, none of which was actually filling me up yet. At least I didn't feel so much like a pregnant chick in a bakery, though. Too bad it didn't stop the mood swings. Or the thoughts of killing. He shook his head and got out of the car. "No wait, make that hot wings instead." The kid waved me off without looking back. "Ooh, and see if they still have this thing called a Mystic Melt. It's like a Philly cheese stake but without the—"

"Dean," Sam stuck his head through the window, "I can't hurry up if you keep calling me back."

"Alright, hurry up then," I slid over onto the driver's side and stroked the dashboard while he walked toward the entrance. "It's okay, baby." It was bad enough that I'd had to cheapen the Impala up with a makeshift, homemade tent job just so I could go out in the daytime without frying, but now the seat was all warm. I was still cringing from the fact that Sam had driven all the way here in my car, when I thought of something else, "And cheese fries!" He gave me one last look of frustration, before going in. "I like cheese fries."

The moment he stepped inside, Green Eyes's back straightened up a little bit letting me know that she recognized him, probably from dreams, or however this witch stuff worked. I really hadn't stopped to ask her before I left, and the only other time we'd dealt with witches before then ended with Sam and me needing help from Ruby. I figured that, until Sammy and I were back on the road, it would be best if I just treated Green Eyes like another Ruby. A necessary evil that we could use to our advantage while keeping our eyes open for whatever curveball she had hidden up her sleeve. But I still couldn't look into her green eyes and see Ruby's evil blues/browns glaring back. No matter how much I tried. Nevertheless, she zeroed in on him just as quickly as he'd noticed her. In no time, she had a bartender who didn't even look old enough to drive taking Sam's order. He quickly set the drink on a napkin where he'd also written his phone number for her. _What the hell is this? 1987? Just do your damn job, Beiber. _She smiled politely, waiting for him go refill a couple of empty glasses before throwing the napkin away. _That's my girl._

Sam added hot wings and cheese fries to the list of orders he'd be making that night, gaining a lazy chuckle from Green Eyes followed by a comment on how big appetites must run in the family. "How is he, by the way?" She asked like the answer was the last thing she actually wanted to hear but was asking for small talk's sake.

He shrugged and tried to snow her with vague answers like "fine" and "he would have come in himself, but he' kinda on a strict diet that doesn't include…alcohol." _Smooth, Sammy. Real Smooth._ Just when his evasiveness was starting to make me proud, he had to go and feed her some unbelievable bull that set him two steps back. She looked away from him twice: once at all the untouched food sitting in front of him, and once at the window over his shoulder, and reached out to grab his arm. Just as quickly, she snatched her hand back, demanding for him to tell her about some little girl that she'd seen in a pissy voice that felt like old times.

"He kinda snapped on a hunt in St. Augustine four years ago."

"What happened to the girl?" After she'd taken her hand back, Green Eyes had signaled the horny bartender back and ordered a gin on the rocks. Her first real drink of the night. It lay sweating bullets in her hands.

"It's what happened to him that I'm more worried about, which is sorta the reason why I called. See, he ran off a couple of nights ago, and—" Before he could break it to her that he hadn't driven all this way for hot wings and small talk, a tough-looking chick with short blond hair walked up to the bar, swaying on her feet. She wanted them to think that she was drunk, so they wouldn't notice the clear liquid she was slipping into Sammy's drink. It smelled like the stuff Green Eyes used to slip me. Some anti-vampire crap that started with a "V." Green Eyes was too preoccupied with pouring something equally clear into her drink. But she still didn't take a sip. Sam noticed the girl's slip, but didn't let on that he knew.

Green Eyes; however, didn't have a problem setting the record—and the sneaky blond—straight, "That's enough Ms. Lewis." To Sam, she made introductions, "Reny, this is Sam Winchester. Sam, this is Reny Lewis. She's one of my students who also happens to be a wi—" she stopped for a second, trying the evasive approach out for size, "well, let's just say that we have _a lot _in common. And don't worry about your drink. It's just Vervain. It'll protect you while you're here."

"Wouldn't want those bed bugs biting," one wink at him, and the kid was all dimples. He gulped his beer down. Hard. _Just great_, I thought. Leave it to Sabrina the Teenage Witch to be the first chick since Ruby to get my brother's juices flowing. Literally.

"Guess it runs in the family," the man sitting next to me didn't even try to hide the smug British tone in his voice.

"Ah, Crowley, Duke of Dicks. To what do I owe the pleasure?" I tried to patronize him.

"As if you don't know," he waited for me to fess up to something I really had no clue about. "Don't insult me by pretending that you didn't sic your little guardian angel after me." I was still wracking my brain and coming up empty. Since when did Cas listen to my damn calls? And why the hell was he talking to Crowley? I made sure that he answered this before I knocked his screws loose. That piece of shit still owed me for the faulty cap. "Which is precisely why I'm here. It's been brought to my attention that your cap didn't pop until Dracula's blood penetrated your veins."

"Wow, Crowley. Only you could make it sound so Brokeback," the steering wheel grew hot beneath my grip. "Really, does being a grade-A dick take practice or is it just a natural talent?"

He went right on like I'd never even said anything, "Be that as it may, Castiel has so graciously taken time out of his busy schedule to remind me that without the cap I promised you, our deal is null and void. And as long as you're a vampire, I can't put the cap back on." Something wasn't right about this situation. Demons didn't usually let people out of their deals no matter what the details of those deals were. And angels didn't fight humans'—or whatever my case was—battles unless they knew something.

"What's the catch?" Sam was still hamming it up on the inside.

"No catch. Say, you haven't fed yet have you?" He knew damn well that if I fed, I wouldn't even have a chance of turning back. If that sort of thing could even happen. Then again, he wasn't just finding out about the cap. He'd known before Sam had invited me into our motel room. "Good. Don't. Because I think I just found something even more valuable than Purgatory." Before I could question what that meant, he was gone.

Back inside, the blond asked what Sam had said his name was again. The answer made her eyes grow wide and her to turn to Green Eyes, who kept looking at her watch, and scream, "As in brother of 'He had a million ways to send me to hell…?'" Neither me nor Sam knew what that comment meant, but obviously it was some kind of inside reference to me that I didn't appreciate at all. Green Eyes shook her head reluctantly and motioned for the girl to leave, which she did, laughing the whole way, "Damn! This town just keeps getting better and better."

Needless to say, the girl's nosiness had put Green Eyes in a foul mood that even Sam couldn't brighten. She saw through his motives on the spot, and I could tell that she was ready to leave by the way her arms crossed in front of her chest. "Alright Sam, what is going on here?" Sam took a deep breath and picked up a fry. He put it back down again, looking straight into her eyes, calling her bluff.

"Look, I know that you and my brother were close once. That he confided in you about what we do, and that you cared enough for him to keep it in confidence." This was clearly the wrong approach for someone who wasn't interested in reliving the past. It certainly wouldn't have won me over; he wasn't winning any sympathy points with her either. She just looked more miserable.

"I was just a messed up kid," it was a whisper. When she looked back up, her eyes were sad, "I was just a lonely, messed up kid with a crush on the town's new bad boy. That's all!" Sam tried to reason with her, tried to get the conversation back to where we needed it to be, but she stepped away from him, grabbed her coat, and laid a few dollars down for the bartender. "Look, Sam, you seem like a nice guy, and I really hope that Dean is okay, but as you've just mentioned, I know what you guys do, and well…I happen to love a lot of people that you two go after, so I'm going to tell you something that I once told a very close friend of mine before I met your brother," she squared her narrow shoulders and stepped up to where Sam was sitting, "If he so much as spills one drop of vampire blood in this town, I will be forced to take him down," she was whispering now, "even if I have to take you down with him." It wasn't a threat. And I wasn't intimidated by it. But I was pissed.

"Bonnie, please. We need your help. He's a…he needs you." She turned around for a moment, and it was a moment I thought we'd won. I should have known better though. Witches were all the same. Only out for themselves.

"Well he's about seven years too late," she stepped into a leather jacket two sizes too big to belong to her. "I've got someone else who needs me now." Then, she walked out. I'll admit it: that last part cut into me like a steel knife between my ribcage, which trust me, after being stabbed more times than Swiss cheese, I knew how much it hurt. This was worse. Still, hearing her play the victim card like she didn't carry a damn bit of the blame made my gums hurt. I wanted to punch something. No, I wanted to momentarily forget how much I hated myself for becoming what I'd once hunted, let the fangs grow, and rip someone's head off. Anyone. Maybe even the next person who walked past this car and bumped her grille on the way inside. I knew I had to get a grip before I lost control.

"Well that went well," by the time Sam slid back into the car, I was back to my old self—as much as I could be considering—"told you this was a bad idea."

"Unbelievable," his face was still turned up in confusion, "she's just as stubborn as you. It's a wonder you two didn't kill each other."

"Yeah, well, I was too busy helping her out of a 500 year old jam so, she kinda owes me." I backed the Impala away from this sorry ass excuse for a bar and sped off."

"Where are we going?" Sam's death grip on the door handle was almost offensive. He looked like he were about to pee himself.

"To make sure she doesn't forget it."


	11. SEX ON FIRE

**A/N: **I usually don't like to post an update without at least having half of the next chapter written so that you guys don't have to wait so long for a new update. But I haven't gotten a chance to write much due to all the studying I've been doing. However, the fiction fairy was kind to me and I was able to get this one out quickly, just in time for Valentine's Day. Thank you to **SyLaR'sMEmoRyGuRL** for your review. I know that you've been waiting patiently for the next post and here it is. Hope you enjoy. Also, I have to mention another awesome reader who read _A Million Ways _and this story over the weekend. That reader is **Eddieizzie**. I hope that this satisfies your Bamon needs. Lol. Now, in the last chapter, I said that the situation in this chapter happened four years ago. Sorry, it was actually three years ago. I messed up on my timeline. With that being said, I hope you enjoy my Valentine's Day gift to you all. It's a racy little flashback with lots of Damon/Bonnie action, plus a surprise ending involving three little words that Bonnie never expected to hear. Again, Happy V-Day my lovelies.

**Disclaimer: **The only characters that I own are Mrs. Avery. Lol. And she's not really a pleasure to own. By the way, the song is by Kings of Leon. Now, let's get on with it, shall we?

SEX ON FIRE

Bonnie's POV

The first time that Damon and I had ever known intimacy outside of late night movie marathons and innocent pecks on the lips was the day of my father's funeral. A week after I'd graduated from college.

"Heart attack," I remembered mumbling to the tall vampire standing beside me in the cold grey cemetery, repeating a doctor's words that I hadn't wanted to believe all because I couldn't stand the sound of the dramatic sobs. A gospel spread its truth around us in rich D-minor strains, while the others cried tears that I couldn't even muster. I had loved my father, it was true. I'd loved him so much that I couldn't even cry for him at his own funeral. Instead, I focused all of my energy on getting through the day; burying him and the magic inside of me like I'm sure that he would have wanted. If only he had known.

"Death isn't so bad," he'd said after a thoughtful moment of silence. Damon, King of Sarcasm and Scorn, had made a joke. While everyone else at the service struggled between the choices of offering me awkward condolences and taking the long way around the jogging path just so that they wouldn't have to cross me and risk saying the wrong thing, Damon had not only stood beside me, he made jokes. Not a snide remark meant to condescend its listener, but a genuine joke that only set out to give mirth. And I laughed. Hard and loud.

The congregation turned to where he and I stood in the back of the clearing, their faces stunned and somewhat disapproving. On one side, there was Caroline, who sat gingerly clutching Tyler's hands in her lap, her mouth frozen in a wide O. The other side held Elena and Stefan who both scrambled to get up from their seats to comfort me, with a recovering Caroline at their heels. They wavered in front of my eyes as tears seeped beneath my lids. _I'm dying, _I thought. _I'm dying of laughter in a cemetery! How ironic!_ But he'd held them off, telling my best friends to give me some space to breathe and collect myself.

"Ms. Bennett," the reverend called out to me, clutching his bible in his severely aging hands, "was there something that you wanted to contribute before we lower Brother Bennett into the Earth?" I laughed even harder at his caring tone and careful use of the phrase "lower him into the Earth." He said it the way that one would explain funeral to a child, and it made me laugh uproariously. After all, I was a twenty-two year old witch who had, on more than one occasion, been visited by the ghosts of my foremothers, and he was describing the scene before us as if we were on Sesame Street burying Big Bird or something. The whole thing was Just. Too. Much.

"That won't be necessary. She's just a little shaken up," Elena called to the priest and guests over her shoulder. "Please carry on with the ceremony." Yet, no one seemed convinced. Even worse, murmurs erupted throughout the crowd, unfairly judging "Poor Bonnie Bennett's inappropriate behavior." Contempt floated from their mouths in waves that crashed over me: "…a complete lunatic just like that grandmother of hers," "Death follows that girl more than the grim reaper," "…won't be surprised if we're sitting at her funeral next. The way she's always whoring around with the elder Salvatore bachelor…" And the gleeful hiccups turned to bitter whimpers. They'd had it all wrong. They'd had us all wrong. Oh, not about my death being next, of course, because I too had wondered that when I found my father still lying in bed at noon five days ago when he was usually at the hospital no later than 8am. I had tried to shake him. Tried to wake him from his cold immobile slumber, but there was no use. The only breathing coming from his expansive room was my own short gasps as I crumpled into a heap beside him on the bed. Twelve hours later, Stefan found me, unmoved and unconscious after trying to magically bring him back from the dead. He'd said that he'd gotten a "vision" of me lying next to my father and given our history of being able to somewhat predict the other's moods and actions, he couldn't ignore his instinct to rush to my aid. I suppose that our unbreakable bond also had to do with the fact that since rescuing Elena from the tomb all those years back, he and I had an unspoken friendship stronger than any other that I'd ever had in my life. Including the one between Elena, Caroline, and me. So it wasn't all that surprising that it was Stefan who filled the space between Damon and me and gently squeezed my hand while my weeping grew more intense. What had surprised me; however, was Damon's reaction.

"You're going to get up and apologize to Mr. Bennett's daughter, right now, and then leave," I heard him leaning over Mrs. Avery in anxious whispers, "otherwise we will all be attending _your _funeral next. Do I make myself clear?" He focused those brilliant blue eyes onto the older woman's rheumy orbs until she stiffly paced back to me and uttered a wooden apology.

"I apologize, Mr. Bennett's daughter," her voice was as hollow and rigid as her stance, "I am afraid I must leave, now." Then she turned and walked away from the cemetery, narrowly missing the truck that almost collided into her plastic hip. And then Damon walked off in the other direction, exiting just as abruptly as he'd entered, without uttering another word.

If there hadn't already been tension between the brothers, Damon's public compulsion would definitely have caused some, but honestly it had been building up for years. Living with the two of them, while Elena and I recuperated had been like living with parents on the brink of divorce; the two of us caught in between. Yet, as ballistic as he was, his anger was nothing compared to mine.

I thought about it during the limo ride home. Visualized myself magically ripping that smug smirk right off of his face for what he'd done to Mrs. Avery. Yes, I knew that I was starting to sound like an unappreciative, judgmental bitch that didn't deserve his defense. But that was precisely why I hated him for it, because, even though everyone else may have deemed Damon's confrontation with Mrs. Avery to be sweet, I saw it for what it really was: clearing a debt.

Even after refrigerating all of the pies and casseroles brought over by condolence-sending neighbors after the wake and assuring Elena, Stefan, Caroline, Tyler, and Matt that I didn't need them to stay with me, I still couldn't get over the anger I felt at Damon for what he'd done. He'd compelled Mrs. Avery not because I'd deserved an apology, but because I needed one. And he wanted me to say that I needed him for a change instead of the reverse.

Even worse, he'd made it seem as if the past four years that I'd looked after him—no matter how reluctant I had been—were just one big debt that he owed. Which bothered the hell out of me. However, the fact that it bothered me was much more upsetting, and I couldn't let him get away with it. Not that night. That night, I would finally give the narcissistic vampire everything he truly deserved.

"You made a mistake in compelling Mrs. Avery, Damon!" My voice echoed through the expansive lobby of the boarding house. There was no sign of him anywhere. For once, even the liquor cabinet was closed. Which should have been my indication to leave. Obviously, the boarding house was empty. But then I saw it. The black high heels strewn along the plush carpet alongside other articles of clothing: some male, but mostly female. And none of them belonging to Stefan or Elena. The rafters above me started to shake under the weight of a rage that had no target. Really. Who cared if Damon slept with half the town? I just needed to be mad, and anyone who's ever been irrationally upset knows that anger always feels better when it has a target.

I pictured the floor of his room caving in. Saw the floor boards collapsing in my mind until the sound resonated throughout the house in reality. Splinters snapped and popped in time to a woman's high pitched scream as two figures fell through the ceiling. _Have a nice date, Damon,_ I had laughed the entire drive home. However, the joke was on me, because the moment I walked into my bedroom in the house where dad died, Damon lay sprawled out on my bed with his arms behind his head, smirking and taking up space like he owned the place.

"Bitch move trying to kill my date, Judgie. Although I have to admit that you've surprised me. I knew that you were capable of a lot, but I hadn't honestly thought that _murder_ was your style," he winked appreciatively up at me through thick dark eyelashes that weren't fair. _Murder! Oh God, I really am a monster,_ I panicked. I hadn't meant to kill anyone, I just snapped. And now…

"Is…is she okay?"

He chuckled at my stammer, "Who? Rachel? Ah, she's going to be fine. We got the blood all cleaned up," he licked his lips. "And don't worry. She won't remember a thing." He was definitely enjoying this.

"Then why aren't you at the manor annoying her?" I gritted my teeth. The day had finally started to catch up to me, and being there reminded me of the many times that I had waited for my father's shift at the hospital to end. Something that I would never be able to do again.

"How're you feeling?" He ignored the question, sad smile playing on his lips as if he sincerely cared about my wellbeing.

"Damon, what right did you have in compelling Mrs. Avery at my father's funeral today?" Anger flashed over his features, replacing any signs of false sincerity.

"She started it," the vampire's jaw clenched, "She should learn to keep her comments to herself and mind her fu—"

"She's a bitch, Damon! What's your excuse?" He gave me an incredulous look that said, _I'm a vampire! Duh. _But I wasn't going to let him off the hook that easily. There was more to his actions than just being a born-again predator. This fact had nearly killed me to admit, but Damon was not the same threat who flew off the handle at the drop of a dime, and had tried to kill me. After losing practically everyone, he weighed his actions more carefully. Thought long and hard before making a decision. So I knew that, despite his stubborn act, there was more to the story than he was telling me.

"She had no right to talk…she shouldn't have said…"He shook his head, stunning us both with his lack of clear speech, and reached around my desk chair for his jacket. "It's been a long day. I almost killed a sixty-year old woman. You almost killed my dinner. Let's just consider ourselves even, shall we?" The indifference that I hated was back, quickly replacing any vulnerability that had almost shown through his thick shield.

"So that's what this is all about!" I telepathically ripped him from my bed and slammed his head against the peeling wallpaper of my bedroom's far wall. "Us finally being even?" At this admission, he exploded.

"You will not _ever_," the enraged vampire spun us around so that it was my back scraping against the aging wallpaper, "question my motives. Or my intentions!" Angry fists pounded the wall beside me until the commotion split the wall down the middle.

Heated screams of anger and disbelief—not to mention Damon's suspicion—echoed despite the plush carpeting and array of cushioned furniture neatly placed around the room as if my father's absence had caused the house to feel as hollow as did I.

"Why do you even care what I think? Is there something that you're not telling me, Judgie?" He raised an inky eyebrow at me, and ran his finger down my arm. Goosebumps eroded my skin in response to his touch.

"Yes," fire shot out around the room. "Go to Hell!"

He fixed me with one of his cocky, all-seeing stares. "Is that really what you want?" To anyone else, the question would have sounded harmless, maybe even sorrowful, but this was Damon that we were talking about. The last thing that his statement had been was harmless, because it was more than just a simple inquiry. It was a challenge. A test of strength.

"More than anything," I spat back in a surprisingly steady voice, despite the painful racing of my heart. But there was a moment of hesitation before the words came out. A moment of weakness and indecision stilled the room's raging fire as I tried to forget the last time I'd actually felt this tempted and ready to give in. To say that Damon made dismissing him easy would have been a lie. In an instant, he grabbed the nape of my neck and positioned his mouth directly over mine, close enough to make me want a taste.

"Are you sure about that?" He awaited my answer with a look of pure, unadulterated debauchery that caused me to unconsciously tilt my lips even closer to his. I wasn't the type of girl who was easily seduced. Seduction wasn't real. It was all just an illusion, just harmless eye-flirting and lingering caresses hidden behind a wall of smoke and mirrors, and it's all fun and games until somebody gets hurt. Yet, his eyes were doing something to me. Something worse than both seduction and compulsion. No, his eyes were steadily inching me toward my Screw-It point. Dad was dead and Dean was gone. Neither of them was coming back. So why not fall for Damon? Lord knows, it would have been so much easier that way.

Still, I couldn't give in. Not just yet. Not without hesitation. After moments of silence, he dropped his hands to my hips and pressed us together. "You know what I think? I think that I tempt you, that you want this as much as I do. I think you're so tired of being the Little Witch That Couldn't, that you'd do _anything_ to reinvent yourself." His eyes sparkled with ice cold excitement at the word "anything." "But first," he raised the hem of my shirt, tickling my ribs with his thumb, "I think that you need to prepare yourself."

My tongue, which had grown drier than sand, scraped against the roof of my mouth, seeking hydration. "Wh-why?" I croaked, hating the way that my voice cracked at his ministrations.

"I'm not going to be gentle like the hunter," he raggedly huffed.

"Believe me, the last thing I want to feel is another disingenuous person pretending to be gentle." He swallowed back a groan with something that sounded like strangled satisfaction.

"Good," he growled, "because I'm going to make you scream." And as he pushed me on the child-like bed sheets, pulling so that I kneeled before his standing form at the foot of my bed, the fire around us sprang back to life.

If Dean was like whiskey, then Damon could be compared to a fine red wine fermented to a point of potency that resembled blood and tasted like poison. His hands were frantic upon my bare skin, kneading and squeezing with an expertise intent upon bleeding my inhibitions dry. Because that's what wine does. It hides behind the senses, waiting for the most inoperable moment to blind the drinker with immobilizing desire. But even though his kiss made me feel like I was dying, I continued to roll him around my tongue, consumed with what would inevitably transpire between us if I didn't gain control.

"Ah, ah, ah, my little witch," his words were slick against my skin, "I'm in charge, remember?" By then, the monster inside of him had fully taken over, mocking my nerve to unleash his feral nature, and I should have been afraid. I should have been appalled as he proceeded to whisper fetishes in my ear that ranged from risqué—"You didn't think that I came unprepared, did you?" he asked, securing my wrists above my head with a shiny pair of handcuffs that were undoubtedly "borrowed" from Sherriff Forbes—to downright criminal—spilling his own blood onto the flesh just below my ribs until it spelled out letters such as L.U.S.T., M.I.N.E., and A.L.W.A.Y.S., licking me clean, and starting over with a different word.

But instead of being afraid, I tightened my legs around his waist and matched his fervor with a series of insults, "I'll never be yours, Vampire." Damon's eyes blackened to showcase his rage as if roughly nudging my cheek with the side of his face hadn't clued me in to his fiery temper.

"You _will_ be mine! Because after tonight," his hands found my throat, restricting only enough oxygen for me to feel pleasantly lightheaded, his hips increasing to inhuman speed, "I am going to ruinyou for _all _men.

His words were smooth. His kisses chilled my blood. And his hands could have put silk to shame. But though I sipped his wicked lips like wine, he brought me to my undoing with waves and waves of acidic pleasure as hot-cold as the fire that swelled around my bed, scorching the pale floorboards beneath us. He too shuddered, coming undone to a memory of long, chocolate locks and deceptive brown eyes. It put me at ease, his fantasizing, because then I didn't have to feel guilty about my own cravings for cropped blond hair and whiskey-burnt kisses. We were even, exactly as Damon had wanted.

The brink of dawn found us curled tightly into each other on the bare mattress. "Did you really have to rip my sheets to shreds?" I slurred into Damon's cool chest. He lay beneath me, stroking my hair; the monster was safely trapped in his cage once more.

"You're one to talk, Bon Bon. Any closer with that fire, and we'd have been burned to death," I looked into his pale eyes with amusement, "You know what I meant. Now get your stuff." He jumped from the bed, completely proud in his all together. Fixated upon the curve his ass made in the thin sliver of light pouring from my window, I barely heard myself ask where we were going. "You're coming to live with me at the boarding house. There's no point in both of us living alone, especially since we spend most of our time together anyway. Plus, you've looked at that clock four times in the last five minutes. You know it won't change anything." I hadn't thought that Damon had noticed, but he was right. It was 5am, the time that my dad would have gotten up for work. I was usually up at this time to make him breakfast, and even though I knew that he was gone, old habits die hard.

"You know _this_ doesn't change things, right? I still hate you." He smiled, no signs of a smirk in sight, knowing that it wasn't really in my heart to hate him anymore, and kissed my cheek. The look in his eyes was one I'd only seen him use on someone far less worthy.

"I hate you too," he winked. And that was my final memory of the house where dad died, the memory of my own screams echoing inside the walls, and how Damon had promised to make it happen.

Funny, the little things that you remember about the last place you lived. I'd taken my first steps in this house. Said my first words in the living room. Eaten my first solid food— turkey and cheddar sandwiches. Apparently my mom, before she died, wasn't much of a hard cereal type of person. Like mother like daughter, I guess—while sitting on the kitchen table. All of my birthday parties had been here, not to mention late summer games of tag with Elena, Caroline, and the neighborhood boys. And when we got too old to chase them, if thirteen can really be considered too old for such a thing, we'd invite them in for a game of spin the bottle right here on the dusty, tattered carpet. The memory of Matt's eager grin when the empty beer bottle "coincidently" landed upon Elena for the third time in a row was enough to make me smile.

Every first that I'd ever had in my life had been split between two houses: my dad's and Grams', right down to my first kiss. Perhaps, if I'd lingered around the porch when I'd first arrived at my late father's house tonight, instead of hurrying to my room to change for Caroline and Tyler's "Mystic Masquerade" engagement party, I would have thought about those times. Sat on the porch swing, garment bag folded gingerly in my arms, and absorbed all of the first kisses and soiled chances that had taken place over the years from boys who'd long since grown into men, and one who'd been too old for me from the start. But as it turned out, I didn't linger, which was why the first memory of this house just happened to be my last night here. Yet if I expected to see it the same way I'd left it: bed sheets ripped to shreds, walls peeling and old, burn marks scorching the floorboards and carpet, I was pleasantly disappointed.

The pale oak floorboards that used to creak and wheeze under pressure were now a sturdy rich cherry red wood. I gazed over at the walls, void of wallpaper, and found that they were painted the color of freshly baked bread with white trim. Even the bed sheets were new. The pink and lime green polka dotted blankets that had been ripped were replaced with a beige and black comforter that sported a slight floral pattern. Twice, I looked through the sea blue curtains—also an improvement—, just to make sure that I was indeed in my father's house, and not inside of a home improvements magazine.

When I finally got over the shock, I grabbed the dress, and made my way to the bathroom, only to be greeted by Stefan's handwriting: **Hope you like your new room. Just in case you ever need a hideout. –S. and E.**

And it was a lovely idea. To actually have a hideout. To have friends that cared enough about me to know that, sometimes, I needed to be by myself. Unfortunately, I'd already found that place in Grams' house, and it could never be changed to here. For one thing, Grams' place was the only place I had that was vampire proof. And secondly, this house held too many memories of Damon. If I were a vampire, I might have been able to still smell him, smell us in the air: thick and disorienting, just as carefully fermented wine was meant to be. Which is why, two hours later, I silently thanked the misguided couple for their gift, grabbed my black clutch, and stepped out into the cool night wearing the strapless blue-grey dress complete with plunging sweetheart neckline and tight skirt that stopped just below the knee, vowing to have a good time and not reveal any of Victoria's Secrets until Damon and I got back home. It was the perfect night for a wedding party. Yet, as I looked up into the night, my breath stopping altogether, I realized that it was also the perfect night for a funeral.

"Hey, Green Eyes," his voice was as tempting and tortured as I'd remembered, like sex and death all rolled into one, and it produced a feeling in me that somewhat resembled a nausea-induced hangover brought on by mixing whiskey with wine.


	12. FIGHT FIRE WITH FIRE

**A/N:** I am so sorry that it has taken me so long to update this story. A month is totally unforgivable in my book. However, school has been daunting this semester. But now that I'm on spring break, I only have about a thousand things to deal with rather than five million. Lol. Quickly, I want to thank readers **Eddieizzie, babyshan211, **and** SyLaR'sMEmoRyGuRL **(thanks for the favorite author add, it made my weekend. Just for that, I've added another one of your lines and more Sam in this update, just like you asked. Hope you like it!)for reading both this story and my short story, _Miles to Go Before You Sleep. _It's going to be a bigger story soon, so check it out if you haven't already.Also, thank you to **xxsarah92xx **for adding this to your alerts. Last, but not least, I want to thank **TheSouthernScribe **who's updates have been almost as scarce as mine. Hope your semester hasn't been as tough as mine. Now, before I start, I want to clear up something about one of Sam's lines. Usually, I don't clear up the pop culture stuff, because I figure that if you watch SPN, you're pretty used to it. However, Sam mentions something about a Colonel Mustard. That's a reference to the strategic board game _Cluedo_ or simply _Clue,_ where the objective of the game is to find out who killed the owner of a large estate.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing but a twisted imagination and a computer. The title is a song by Metallica, and I thought it was definitely fitting after Bonnie's "Sex on Fire." Now, let's get on with it, shall we? **R&R**?

FIGTH FIRE WITH FIRE

Dean's POV

Sam adjusted the black mask over his eyes for the fifth time, trying to get the eye holes to line up over his face so that he could fix me with another one of his _Why do I let you talk me into these stupid situations when we have more important things to worry about?_ glares. All night, he had been bitching about this plan, like crashing a party wasn't just another casualty of the job. Like we hadn't done crap like this a million times before while chasing after murdering ghost ship captains or whatever that week's monster happened to be. To me, this engagement thing was no different: con the doorman, find Green Eyes, and state our case. If she chose to pull another disappearing act, then fine. We could hit the road again and look for the next small town with a penchant for hot witches. I hear the chicks in Salem really knew how to get the blood going, but knowing Sam, he'd probably have me lying on the table of some voodoo witch doctor if this thing with Green Eyes didn't pan out. Until then though, all he had to do was blend into the crowd and try not to look so damn freakishly tall amongst all the short ass people in this town. As far as I was concerned, this was the easy part. But the frown on his face deepened to a full on scowl the moment I finished explaining. It had been there ever since.

"How exactly am I supposed to blend in in this thing?" I stuck my head out the bathroom door again to see what he was talking about, chuckled, and shrugged. He looked at me through the mirror and threw the hat that went with his getup on a desk table in the corner. The sleeves of his jacket rode further up on his arms, causing him to unsuccessfully pull them down again. All that did was make it more obvious that the costume was too small for him.

Mystic Falls was one of those towns that had a church on every corner, followed by a court house and a town hall. Every once in a while, you'd stumble upon a couple of schools and mom and pop stores, but for the most part, this place followed the one-on-one rule. One bar. One strip joint. And one costume shop with only one tux and one bandit costume left in the back of the store's husky boys' section.

"What's wrong with it?" I stuck my head back into the bathroom, to keep from laughing at him. He looked like the Incredible Hulk.

"What's wrong with it?" he walked up to the bathroom's opening and gestured to the eye cutouts in his black blind fold, "Dean, I look like the Jolly Green Giant just ate Zorro!"

"No you don't, Sammy. You look more like…" I stuck my head out again, "the Hamburglar." He paced back over to the mirror and grabbed his spare suit from where I'd hidden it in my duffle bag. Alright, so maybe I was enjoying myself a little more than I should have been, but what the hell else was I supposed to do? Cry him a river over the fact that if this plan didn't work, he'd have to drive a stake through my heart? Nope. I'd rather go out laughing my ass off than kissing it goodbye.

"I look ridiculous! And, and, and what was that thing you wanted me to say about barely even liking gir—"

"Hit a little too close to home there, computer geek?" He dropped his hands from the buttons on his shirt and leaned back, trying keep up this little crying game of his so that his smile wouldn't show, but eventually, the dimples gave his charade away. It hit me, as he shook his head, that this was the first time he'd laughed in years. Probably because it was the first time in years that we'd had a conversation that didn't end in a fist fight.

"Well, I guess it could be worse. You could have made me escort the bride's grandmother." He grimaced and went back to fastening his shirt while I chuckled at the memory of him dancing with that handsy old broad from the ghost ship case. In a way, it was kinda funny how our gigs were starting to go back full circle, but at the same time, I could almost hear the wheels in his head turning toward the end of that same year. Just like that, the chuckles and giggles were gone, because he knew that if we didn't find me a cure soon, I'd kill someone. And then he'd have to send me back to hell courtesy of Wooden Stake Airlines. Suddenly, Crowley's statement: "Say, you haven't fed yet have you? Because I think I just found something even more valuable than Purgatory," was starting to make sense. If Sammy killed me, then there would be nothing stopping Crowley from turning me into every bit the demon he was. "But I really think that we should just focus on finding you a cure." His eyes narrowed at the motion of my hands pulling my jacket back to expose the extra shots of Dead Man's Blood like I had lost my mind. "You can't keep shooting up to curb the mood swings! Do you know why there isn't any research on vampires who resist their transitions?" He waited for me to indulge him, and continued when didn't give him the satisfaction, "Because there aren't any, Dean! Vampires are just like demons. They can't resist the taste of humanity and sooner or later, they all feed."

"Don't you think I know that!" I screamed from the other side of the small motel room, receiving a loud bang from the next door neighbors yelling for me to keep my voice down. "I'm hungry as hell, this…this creepy ass voice in my head keeps begging me to turn you into a Sam pot pie, and that goddamn vein throbbing in your neck isn't helping, so just calm the hell down, will ya?" Sam grabbed my keys off the nightstand and held them out of reach. Clearly, he'd forgotten that pulling a move like this wouldn't do anything but piss me off and land him in a headlock. His breath came out in huffs as he tried to slide out of my grip.

"So, I'm supposed to unleash a hungry vampire on a room full of unsuspecting people and hope for the best just because that vampire also happens to be a hunter?" I let his head go, but kept the rest of him pinned against a nearby wall. So much for having a conversation where I didn't have to take a swing at him.

"And where the hell was that concern when you were chumming it up with Green Eyes earlier tonight, huh?" He looked guiltily away from me as if he should have realized how serious this issue between her and me really was before she stormed away from him at the bar. Before I sped off to her house looking for her to give me a better reason for avoiding me than the one she'd given. "Damnit, Sammy! I could have killed her tonight." His face relaxed into a look that I'd only seen him give me one other time: the night I found him, when he asked me about Green Eyes's lip printed note, and even though I didn't know exactly what he was going to say, I knew that there wasn't a chance that we would do this whole, "You're not monster enough to hurt her" bit tonight. Not a chance in hell.

But instead, he took things one step further, "So that's what this is all about," his lips curled up at the sides the way it would to a five year old with a crush, "you're still in love with her." If he wanted to believe that the only reason I didn't want to risk being stuck sucking heart chunks out of my teeth forever was because I had suddenly turned into some long-haired douchebag from a chick novel then that was on him, but at least it was better than him finding out that the real reason we were going to this party was because the damn voice in my head wouldn't shut up until I found that Rose chick.

"No," I shook my head, "no, no, no, I'm not gonna let you shrink me, dude. Go play Doctor Phil with someone who actually gives a shit."

"Oh, you don't care? Well then what was all that back her house?" A clock above the door struck 9:15. By now, the party was probably in full swing with chicks so drunk they were hanging from the chandeliers and shit, which would make it much easier to slip in without anyone noticing that we were there. But at this rate, we wouldn't get there until tomorrow, especially if he was waiting for me to start dropping confessions into his lap. I'd had enough of that with Green Eyes earlier.

**-THEN-**

Every time I was due to die I went to see Lisa. And when she'd answer her door, I'd purge all my sins to her in some informal doorstep confessional. She must have thought I was one demon away from the nut house; another whack job mistake that she'd rather just pretend never happened. She was married now. Ben was about to graduate from high school, and she wanted nothing more to do with me. But every death, she made an exception, extended her invitation for me to come inside and have a beer, because she knew that I needed someone to understand what the fight had all been for, and she couldn't let me die in vain.

Cassie wasn't like that. She'd only needed my help once, and even though I couldn't count on her to return the favor, just hearing her gratitude made me feel like a hero. Like I was actually doing this: the fighting, the killing, the multiple apocalypses for something better than obsession. I was making it so that we'd never have to see each other again. Just like she wanted.

Green Eyes was somewhere in between the two. She never wanted to see me again, and I didn't blame her. Somewhere over the years, leaving her cold the way I had had put me where Leather Jacket used to be: completely dead to her. And there was a part of me that was glad she'd learned to hate me. But even with her arms folded and her eyes narrowed, I could still hear her breath catch when she stepped onto the porch, still hear her heart race well after the initial shock of seeing me here had worn off. So, she wanted to play that hate game like she hadn't given me just as much of a reason to leave? Well, then I'd go right ahead and play along. All of a sudden, I wasn't so willing to take one for the team just to let her live happily ever after with Leather Jacket. Because, hate or no hate, I was willing to bet that just looking at him had never made her heart race like it was now.

"Hey Green Eyes?" she spit the name out like if left a bad taste in her mouth, "You stroll into Mystic Falls after leaving me with nothing more than a good riddance and an ample threat to, how did you put it, 'drag me back to Hell where I belong,' should I ever give you a reason to come back, and the only thing you can say to me after seven years is, 'Hey Green Eyes?'" A sudden gust of hot wind that I couldn't feel made Sammy reach for the car's air conditioner, turning it on full blast. In front of me, Green Eyes didn't seem to care that it was suddenly Christmas in July. She tapped her foot and waited for an answer.

Would you have preferred a 'Hey honey, I'm home' instead?" What was intended as a joke to lighten the mood came off harsher than I'd meant, which put her straight into the offensive.

"Wow! I see that you still use jokes and games to avoid tough questions," her bitter smile was icy enough to freeze the heat wave. "You haven't changed a bit, have you?" I cleared my throat and got serious again. Clearly, she wasn't as won over by sheepish grins and cheesy one-liners as she used to be. Last I remembered, she had moved on to smirks and constipated eye twitches.

"Believe me sweetheart, you've changed enough for the both of us." She noticed me staring at the place where her tits met the blue fabric of her dress, glared until the wind picked up, and stepped back into the shadows of the doorway so that I couldn't see any more of it. I saw it anyway. It was a tight blue number that clung to her tiny waist in order to keep from tripping over the rest of her curves. It was definitely a far cry from the preppy sweaters and penny loafers that I remembered seeing her in. I didn't know how much a dress like that went for, but I was pretty sure that it wasn't some gift from her doctor daddy. No, this little getup was provided by the words "Leather" and "Jacket." And she wore it just for _him_. "A little dressed up for someone in a hurry to help a friend in need," she crossed her bare arms over her chest, "Isn't that why you ran away from Sam earlier? Why you couldn't even be bothered to listen to what the kid had to say before you hauled ass back to daddy's house?"

"I 'hauled ass' because I already knew what he was going to say. That he wanted me to help you out of whatever stupid situation you've gotten yourself into. But you don't need me or my help, do you? Never did," she stepped up to the pillar that I was leaning on, and propped herself upon the side that lay ninety degrees from mine, so we could stand face to face without touching. I got the feeling that she wasn't avoiding contact because she could sense things through touch like she had with Sam. She was dodging it, because she didn't want to get sucked into what she saw. Or worse, ruin her picture perfect life by getting sucked back into me.

"Oh I forgot. You only have room for one vampire tapping your veins," I muttered, realizing only after it was out that I'd slipped up. To cover it, I added, "So where is he taking you anyway? Dinner with the parents at his family's mausoleum?" As if mentioning him had put her under some kind of spell, her back stiffened. She moved over to the porch swing and grabbed a small black bag at the same time that a stretch limo pulled up beside the Impala. Every damn house on her street lit up with curious faces trying to catch a glimpse of the couple inside, Green Eyes included. I turned back to her. There were bigger problems on this street than an episode of The Real Douchebags of Mystic Falls.

"I have to go," her voice was cold and emotionless.

"He must really be a good lay to make you forget all the shit he's done." She backed down the steps as if I'd slapped her, momentarily letting her hard wall down, and narrowed her eyes again. Fire hit the step below me.

"Well at least he didn't leave me to rot in the woods the moment he saw something he didn't like," it was the coldest thing I'd ever heard her say, but her eyes didn't get the message. She blinked back a couple of tears before they could make their way down her cheek, and I swear, for a second, they almost got me.

"What happened to you, Green Eyes?"

She turned around before the driver opened the door for her, "Green Eyes drowned a long time ago," she raised her voice for the last part, "so if you don't like the girl Damon pulled up from the water, you only have yourself to blame." With that, she stepped into the car and sped off, leaving both me and a small piece of paper behind on the porch.

**We Cordially Invite You to:**

**Forewood's Mystic Masquerade Engagement Party at the Mayoral Estate**

It was our ticket in.

**-NOW-**

"Nothing. Let's go." Before Sam could open his mouth, the phone rang, giving me a chance to slip back in the bathroom for my own black mask. On the other end, Bobby was already launching into a rant.

"Sam, are you by yer computer?" Sam opened his laptop and waited for it to load up. After a couple minutes of searching, the computer made loud buzzing sound signifying a lack of internet reception that didn't sit too well with Bobby. "It was working when I left yesterday. Is there some kind of blackout in Fairfax?"

"Actually, Bobby, we're not exactly in Fairfax anymore. Dean and I are in Mystic Falls visiting this girl he used to know when I was in He—" The next thing either of us knew, Bobby was swearing under his breath and demanding to be put on speaker, because he'd been with me during Sam's dance with the Devil. He'd put his own hunts aside to help me clean that vampire chick's clock and watched as I made a bigger mess of things than she had. Sure, Sam knew all about the second wave of the apocalypse, the vampire copies, and the fact that killing one of those copies had kicked another one of Armageddon's doors off the hinges, but he hadn't lived it. Bobby, on the other hand, had. And he was getting too old to run after me when I went off the deep end.

"Tell me you didn't let him go off by himself," panic rose in the old man's voice.

"I'm right here, Bobby. What's going on?" I sat on the bed opposite Sam and turned phone sideways so he could hear me better.

He groaned on the other end, choking back his irritation so he could save it for a time when my head wasn't on the chopping block. "What's up is that while you two chuckleheads were taking a road trip down memory lane, I went to see an old friend of mine, Rufus Turner." Rufus was the hunter that taught Bobby the tricks of the trade after a demon possessed his wife and tried to split his melon with a knife. Bobby rarely involved Rufus in our business, and if you ask me, he was using the word "friend" loosely. There was definitely some mutual bad blood going on between the two. Still, Rufus was the most experienced hunter we knew. Back when Gordon Walker was hot on Sam's trail, Rufus experimented with a couple of possible vampire cures, but by the time he found Gordon, all that was left was a bloody head sitting a foot away from its body. "To make a long story short, Rufus didn't want to get involved with this. Said he'd seen way too many good hunters…good men get sentenced with fangs and nothing good ever came out of it," Sammy shifted uncomfortably on the bed with his best _We're screwed_ face, "but he gave me the journal of a late friend of his: a vampire hunter named Daniel Elkins."

"Hey, wasn't that the name of dad's mentor?" Sam dug in his duffle bag to find dad's journal. "Remember? The one who was killed by that nest outside of Denver."

"How could I forget? It's not every day a guy finds out that both vampires and the gun that can put a serious dent on the supernatural population actually exist." I grabbed the journal from Sam's hands, turned to the page that mentioned finding the colt, and tossed it back to him. "Kinda makes you miss the days when all we had to worry about was finding mom's killer and ganking any monsters that came along the way, doesn't it?"

"Hey, Bevis and Butthead, if you two gals are done gossiping, I'll get to the good part," Bobby was even more irritable that usual. "Now, as I was saying, Elkins wrote all his jobs in a journal just like John used to, and one of the entries just so happened to mention an encounter he had with a vampire named Elijah. I don't know all the parameters yet, but I think it has something to do with that vampire we fought in the Falls seven years ago when Sam went bottom side."

"The doppelganger that tripped her alpha's alarm?" I could almost hear Bobby shaking his head "no" on the other end. He followed that "no" with bombshell that would have stopped my heart had it still been beating, because according to Rufus, slashing that vampire bitch hadn't broken the alpha's last seal. But it had pissed him off enough to look for a way to pop out of his nest without her.

"Let me guess," I got up and grabbed a beer from the mini-fridge, "that ticket to freedom's name is Rose." Both Sam and Bobby asked how I knew, no doubt believing that this vampire crap had me reading minds. "Because her name's been stuck in my head like a shitty love song ever since we got here."

"This is all well and good, Bobby, but did you also find a cure?" Sam put the journal back into his duffle and grabbed the phone even though we were on speaker.

"Do I have the word 'Encyclopedia' stamped on my damn far-ed? You know that building with all the books?" Sammy dropped his head into his hands and sighed in reply at Bobby's sarcasm like he wasn't used to it, "It's called a library. Go there and start looking. Sheesh, do I have do everything myself?" Bobby had this way of making you feel like a two year old with your hand caught in the cookie jar.

"Sorry Bobby," Sam mumbled.

Over the phone, a car engine started. "I have some things to finish up here, but I'll be there in the morning. Until then, just sit tight, and don't let your brother do anything stupid." We said our goodbyes to a grumbling Bobby who couldn't wrap his head around why we two morons were so hell bent on looking for more trouble. As if we didn't have enough of it barging through our door on a daily basis.

I grabbed my car keys and headed out to the car with Sam in tow, bitching under his breath, "Too late for that."

The address on the invitation belonged to a large tan and white house with blue and white ribbons tied everywhere like a life-sized cake, and from the looks of things, everyone in the whole town wanted a piece. As I figured, the party was already filled to the brim with drunk broads who were only a fruity chick drink away from dropping trou' for the next dude who shot her a wink and a smile. The only thing separating us from the door was a giant fountain that some guy was using as a porta-john. Sam let out a low whistle, "Can we say Colonel Mustard in the basement with the candle stick?"

"We're definitely not in Kansas anymore, Sammy. I'll tell you that. Okay, you know what to say right?" I asked.

The dimples in his cheek deepened, "I'm not saying that, Dean! I agreed to play along while you look for Bonnie, but I am not saying that!" We argued all the way up the lawn, only to be stopped by the doorman. One would think this was a Whitehouse affair, the way he was talking into his white earpiece. When he saw us walk up to the door, he held out a hand and asked if we were on the list.

"Not exactly, but see we're old friends of the bride." I flashed him a cheeky grin. The man put his list down by his side in order to plant himself further through the doorway, blocking the entrance, and commented that if we were really the old friends, she would have put us on the list. Maybe this wasn't going to be as easy as I thought.

"Well see, sir. We're fed—" I stopped Sam's arm before he could take out his FBI badge.

"We're college frat brothers. Delta…" the guard narrowed his eyes like he couldn't wait to hear what fake fraternity name I came up with, "Beta…something or other. But see, my friend here," I slapped Sam on the back, "is actually more than just an old friend of hers. Back in college, he used to have the biggest crush on…" in my hurry to get here and find Green Eyes, I forgot to find out the name of the couple hosting this party, and the conversations inside weren't making things easier:

"I thought Caroline was going to have a cow when Damon got up on stage and turned the attention toward Bonnie during his toast." One chick with a high pitched voice was saying.

Her friend didn't seem to have much remorse for whoever Caroline was, "You'd think she'd be happy to let someone else take the spotlight for a change. Especially with all the rumors of her sleeping with Matt last week floating around."

"…Caroline," I decided it was worth a shot. "He had the biggest crush on Caroline, but she wasn't exactly into the geeky Bill Gates type back then. Not until he got the braces taken off. Then she couldn't stop herself from jumping his bones." Neither Sam nor the guard was amused by my joke, so I cleared my throat. Sam didn't respond right away. I cleared my throat again, eliciting a groan.

"It's true," he said through gritted teeth, "I barely even… liked girls before her." Sam's confession had the desired effect. The man looked taken aback; I guess he figured that anyone with the balls to admit such a pathetic story couldn't possibly be lying, but he spoke into his ear piece for a confirmation anyway. Behind him, a familiar looking blond stopped chasing after a girl with a silver hors d'oeuvres tray and walked our way.

"Mrs. Lockwood is allergic to shrimp," she called over her shoulder, "That's why I said salmon croquette. Sal. Mon. Cro. Quette. Not shrimp cocktail. Like I need any more reason for that woman to hate me," the last part was a whisper. Suddenly, she was at the door, giving Geeves all her attention, "What?" He apologized for pulling her attention away from the party, then motioned to us, asking if she and Sam were really the old friends that we were pretending he was. I'll admit, I didn't plan for this part. If it didn't work, we were seriously going to have to high tail it back to the car, and case the joint so that we could catch Green Eyes as soon as she came out. Only, instead of screaming for security, the blond cocked her head to the side, smile forming slowly on her lips, and sized me up. _Just like she had seven years ago._ I remembered her now. Flashes of Green Eyes running up to me after hours at the garage with Blondie visually undressing me came back in full force.

"I know him," she told Geeves, looking at me while she said it, "we go way back." Blondie's head swiveled around just in time to see Leather Jacket dip Green Eyes who giggled even though I could tell she didn't want to. When the blond turned back around I recognized that look: revenge. Guess she was still pissed at Fright Night for stealing her thunder earlier. "Why don't you gentlemen come in?"


	13. NEAR TO YOU

**A/N: **Sorry all. This chapter was supposed to be days ago, but for some reason, Fanfiction wasn't letting me update. Were any of you having this issue as well? I hope not. Oh well, though! On to my thank yous. **SyLaR'sMEmoRyGuRL**, I remember you telling me how you wanted more kinda sweet, kinda hot, kinda sexy Bamon moments as well as more dialogue between Dean/Bonnie so I hope that you enjoy this chapter. I've had the Damon part in it for a while, but I couldn't post it until I was satisfied with the Dean/Bonnie stuff. I finally am. **Mrs. Sheehan, **I wanted to send you a review reply, but for some reason, the email alert wouldn't let me. Anyway, I really appreciate the review, and I assure you that things are about to heat up where Damon/Bonnie/Dean are concerned as well as with the whole Rose issue. So, this chapter is re-edited with a little bit of you in mind. I hope that you enjoy.**TheSouthernScribe**, this chapter is for you as well, because I know how appreciative of Gossip Girl references you truly are. Plus, we see more of what Elijah can do, and watch as our witch's two favorite love interests get handsy with her at Caroline's party.

**Disclaimer: **You already know that I own nothing. Because if I did...the show's characters would have been after something else entirely: me! Ha ha. By the way, the title song is Near to you by A Fine Frenzy. If you want, you can listen to while reading. If you choose to do so, then start the song as soon as Bonnie mentions Caroline discouraging anymore speeches. Ok, disclaimer over. Now, let's get on with it, shall we?

NEAR TO YOU

Bonnie's POV

Caroline knew how to throw a masquerade ball. That much went without saying. And whether or not celebration was appropriate at a time when daily threats were more promising and realistic than her engagement to the newborn werewolf, no guest could deny being more than just a little willing to throw her worries aside in a pile of perpetually fear-stained laundry in favor of her favorite little black dress and jewel-toned mask for at least one night. No guest except for Elena and me. Elena because she recognized this party as just one more way for Caroline to initiate competition where there was none. To prove with her expansive guest list that she had won. Not the doe-eyed brunette who had unknowingly rivaled the ex-cheerleader for the affection of Mystic Falls' finest, but Caroline. They were all here to see Caroline. And as for me? Well, my reluctance at watching Elena and I play the Kati and Isabelle to Caroline's Blair Waldorf stemmed solely from the fact that I was in no mood to pretend to laugh at childish jokes, and far too sober to actually understand their humor.

Ladies in waiting—better known as Caroline's sorority sisters from Richmond U.—greeted Elena, Stefan, and me with our seating arrangements and tiny blue boxes that offered silver lockets. "Save the date," they read on one side while the other half presented us with a picture of a happy Caroline hugging an adoring, yet highly uncomfortable looking Tyler.

"Mrs. Lockwood must be cringing at all the money he's been spending on Care and this wedding," Elena whispered beside me.

"Do you think someone should warn Tyler?" Stefan nodded toward the aging socialite who glared at her soon-to-be daughter in law before washing another Paxil down with her champagne.

Elena sighed, "I think we should get this over with before, I go join her." Our table sat atop a raised platform that overlooked a sea of eager guests just waiting to dine on gourmet meals fit for royalty and bask in the happiness of tonight's crowning glory: the bride and groom to be. The spread, as well as the rest of the party was beautiful, even with Caroline chasing behind its perfection with a clipboard full of ideas on how to be even more flawless. It was the kind of luxury for which even exclusivity needed to RSVP, yet as I excused myself from Stefan and Elena's presence in lieu of getting some fresh air by one of the open windows, I realized that there was no way I could choke down enough expensive champagne required of me to regurgitate a heavily rehearsed toast on the joys of finding true love when all I wanted to do was wrap myself in Damon's black silk sheets and fade into a darkness where mine could never fine me.

I had gotten missing Dean down to a science that only allowed for two relapses a year: the anniversary of the day we met, and the day that those Christmas cards came. Occasionally, I would stumble upon something that reminded me of him and fall head over heels off the wagon. When my dad was still alive, it was easier to have these relapses, to bury myself in sad songs that tasted of sorrow until I was fully immersed in all that was him. And when those rare occasions came up, I found that the tears didn't care if I had exceeded the amount of time it was socially acceptable to still mourn for love lost. They were still grieving, and so was I. But on normal days unmarred by commemoration, and replaced with Damon's presence, the wound barely even stung. I could even deal with the snide comments he made about how pathetic my holding on really was. After all, his pining was even more pathetic, and our telling each other so was just teasing banter. But it was what our teasing meant that showed the most improvement. It meant that we barely thought about the wounds inflicted, because our waking consciousness had come to grips with a fact that my tears simply couldn't seem to understand: seven years was more than enough time to lock the door to the past. For good.

I was so preoccupied with thinking about this that I nearly missed Caroline's countdown to the first toast.

"Seven!"

It's been seven years since I last heard Dean's voice.

"Six!"

The number of times I thought about him when I shouldn't have.

"Five".

Five nights where Damon tried to make me forget him permanently.

"Four!"

Four times I resisted.

"Three!"

Lives he's taken out of lonely desperation since Katherine's death.

"Two!"

Lonely hearts healed by a string of similarities and paper thin promises.

"One!"

It only took one crack of that gravelly smooth voice upon a nickname to which I had trained myself not to respond to blow all that progress to pieces.

And I had absolutely zero time for the meltdown that his return predicted.

"Who here has ever been in love?" Damon spoke clearly into the microphone, "They say that love is patient, kind, never boastful, and all of that, but they're wrong." A hushed murmur broke out over the party guests in talks of closing the open bar as Caroline reached over and tried to retrieve the microphone from who she thought was a heavily intoxicated Damon. Because let's face it, he spent most of his time at these types of events in a state of belligerent inebriation. During the 1860s, he'd been drunk off of Katherine. After her death, he found new elation in every liquor known to man, not to mention the drunken pleasures that terrorizing Stefan provided. But tonight, though he spoke to the crowd with boldness that only alcoholics would dare attempt, his eyes were focused solely on mine, intentionally secretive, yet completely lucid. Tonight he was sober.

He tested out the length of the cord before continuing his speech, slowly walking away from the stage. "Love can't be any of those things because they're all too rational, and love is anything but rational. My philosophy? Screw love! It sucks and it only comes around when it wants something." He took another step in my direction. "Now hate, on the other hand, is reliable. You can always trust your enemy to keep you close at all times. To hold on until it hurts like hell. And if you're lucky enough, she might just push you over that thin line" Another step closer put a small gap between us. "But even if she doesn't, you'll still endure the 'I hate yous,'" By now everyone had warmed up to Damon's speech, remembering how much Caroline and Tyler used to despise each other as children, leaving room for them to laugh at his side note, "and the sleepless nights on a lumpy couch. Because living together in agony beats being deserted by the best thing that ever happened to you," Damon stood right in front of me in the now quiet room, and I had to give him credit, he knew how to command attention. No one even dared to breathe while we stood staring at each other, not even Caroline, who was more than pissed at having to share her spotlight with Damon. When he pressed his lips to my ear, holding the microphone absent mindedly to the side and whispered, "Now you tell me I'm lying." The crowd erupted into a cacophony of "Oohs and Ahs."

I tried to look into his once-evil blue eyes for any sign that he knew just how relevant his toast really was to me. Could he see Dean taking up space in my mind, wondering why he was back? Was this his not-so-subtle way of trying to remind me to whom my loyalties should lie? But all that stared back at me was a man so far-removed from affliction that he was willing to accept any victory awarded to him—even one as hollow as Rose's good health—as a reason to resurrect the devil-may-care nonchalance whose only concern was drawing his arms tighter around me. Caroline discouraged any other ideas of spontaneous testimony with a song so hauntingly accurate, one would almost think she and Damon had planned it.

**Near to you**

**I am healing **

**But it's taking so long**

Damon pulled back just a little to look into my face. I prayed that he couldn't hear how fast my heart was beating over the music. "What's wrong Bon Bon? You seem very…Stefan-like tonight. All forehead broody, which is not at all what I want to be reminded of when you've got that dress on."

'**Cause though he's gone, **

**And you are wonderful,**

**It's hard to move on**

Fooling Damon relied upon my ability to muster a convincing smile and change the subject back to one of his favorites: himself. Because, now that Rose was better, Damon didn't want to hear that he was no longer the biggest threat in Mystic Falls. He wanted to go back to terrorizing this town. Not saving it. "And what exactly do you want to be reminded of while I'm wearing this dress?" I challenged.

His smirk slid further up his face "You out of it," He spun me around until my back nuzzled his chest. "So, why don't we go back home and…" his head dipped into the crook of my neck so that he could whisper salacious warnings into my skin. My back arched further into his chest with each lick of his breath. We were suddenly the only two standing there, wrapped up so tightly in one another that nothing else mattered. Not Dean. Not Elijah. Nothing.

**Yet, I'm better near to you.**

For the next two minutes, he made a production of twirling and dipping me, until giggles reluctantly erupted from my throat. I tried to give myself over to the moment. To tell myself that this was the kind of fairytale some women dreamed of. But the worry was still there, because Dean was never one to let things go, and if I knew anything about him, storming off would just make him come after me more. "Hate to interrupt," Rose's clipped tone suggested the opposite of her claim. Ever since Damon had applied Elijah's Wolf's Bane to the ancient vampire's wounds, she had dedicated every waking moment to finding out why Elijah had targeted her in the first place. Damon was more concerned with what Klaus wanted with her, but every time he brought the unscrupulous original up, Rose concealed the truth with lofty tales of an afterlife free of persecution. Free of Elijah. "But we've got a couple of intruders on our hands." I noticed that Rose had coupled her blue jeans with a deep burgundy sweater. She wasn't exactly far from the realm of intruder herself, even with the hand held mask that she had clearly borrowed just for admission purposes.

"What are you talking about?" Damon met her gaze, demeanor quickly darkening. I sensed his body grow more ridged, more alert. Ready to attack.

"Elijah's here," she nodded toward a side entrance where he stood against a wall, surveying the area. "And it looks as if he's brought company. A couple of hunters. One of them has the scent of a newborn." Damon's grip on my waist tightened at the word "hunters." My heart slammed against my ribcage as if it wanted to escape. I definitely understood the feeling of not wanting to be here when Damon found just who those hunters were. "Although you would have been able to sniff them out if you hadn't been so up to your senses in perfume and hairspray. No offense," she finally acknowledged me. I barely even heard her half-hearted apology over the pulse that swam inside my ears.

"Why the hell would Elijah be working with hunters?" Damon let go of me, and gave Rose his full attention. Across the dance floor, Stefan listened to our exchange intently and relayed every word of it to Elena, who consequently ran off in search of Caroline. I turned back to the vampires who were quietly arguing in front of me.

"Who better to compel into finding me?" Rose barely got the answer out before Damon took off in Elijah's direction.

"What are you doing?" Rose and I shrieked and grabbed for him at the same time.

"I'm just going to have a word with him," determination set itself high in Damon's jaw, "ask him if he's enjoying the party, escort him out of it," his hands fondled the sharpened wood splint inside his back pocket.

He was stopped by Rose, who assured him that originals couldn't be killed with stakes. She'd tried. She'd failed. She was leaving. "I'm going over to the next town. You and the Bennett wit— I mean…Bonnie had better leave as well," she said my name as if it would take some time to get used to. Being cordial to witches wasn't like running. She wasn't as accustomed to it. The only thing Damon had ever run from, on the other hand, was resignation. His contemplating it now showed true restraint that scared the hell out of me.

_Now would be a good time to tell Damon about Dean, Bonnie. _Stefan pretended to sniff a spinach quiche, while I mentally reminded him that we already had one homicidal vampire here. There was no need for creating another one. _He's going to find out sooner or later._

_Not if I can get Damon the hell out of here before that happens._

"Fine," Damon's teeth were gritted, "Let's go out the back," he took my hand, trying to gain control of a situation for which he had none, and pushed our way through a crowd of dancers toward the double doors. No one around us suspected a thing out of place. To them, we were just Bonnie and Damon: odd couple haphazardly thrown together under circumstances to which they weren't privy, off to christen his anti-love love speech with bubble baths and sweaty lovemaking. Some of them even smirked at us, sending _He'll definitely be getting some tonight_ vibes our way, and for just a second, I wished that I wasn't such a good person. That I could send each and every one of them to their knees with head-splitting aneurisms. I looked toward Elijah who presented the picture of feigned innocence and saw him wave in my direction. _My control over your thoughts is temporary. Just needed a little insurance on my investment. _Somehow, he was in my head, swimming through the Vervain as if its burn didn't affect him at all, and his complete disregard for my personal space infuriated me to no end. The chandelier above my head shook, causing a strobe light effect to shine from the equally shaky window panes. If he could tempt my thoughts, then there was no telling what he could do to the rest of Caroline's guests. I couldn't leave them unprotected.

"I'm staying," I wrenched free of Damon's grip. He yanked harder on my arm to keep me in place. "I can't leave Elena and Caroline here with him."

"That's what Stefan and Wolf Boy are for. Now, go say goodbye to Bridezilla Barbie, and—

"I'm staying," I enunciated a reply that was deliberate and decisive so that he wouldn't miss its meaning. He grabbed my forearms.

"You can either go consciously or unconsciously, but leaving is not a negotiation."

"Good," I stood my ground, "because I wasn't asking for a compromise. I. Am. Staying." His resignation turned into suspicion.

"Didn't hunters come to Mystic Falls once before?" His tone was misleading. Left one to believe that he and I had always been together. That we had met a man who just happened to be a hunter instead of what had really happened: that hunter had ripped both his first love and my heart to shreads. Only, his careful exclusion of Dean's name and how he we knew him wasn't for the sake of any agreements forged between us. This time, I truly believe that his reluctance at conjuring up old memories was for his sake. For the sake of keeping us together, because we both needed something stable to grasp when we fell from grace. "Do you know something that I don't?"

I rose up to claim a sinister look of my own that could have put him to shame. But my heart was as into the fight as his obviously was, because it was more interested in hiding a guilt that was unfairly placed. Beside us, Rose shifted her feet impatiently, "I hate to break up your lovers' spat, but we really must be leaving," her hand crept up Damon's back, pulling at his shoulder. The rogue vampire shrugged her off and flagged Stefan over. After providing him with an abridged version of our dilemma, Stefan promised to protect me from Elijah while Damon took Rose to outside of Mystic Falls as if I were too incompetent to watch my own back.

Damon grabbed the younger Salvatore by the collar and pulled him close. "If that prick touches one hair on her head, I'll drink both you and this town through a straw," he let Stefan go and slipped Rose out the back exit without so much as a parting glance in my direction. And I took that moment to warn Caroline and Elena of our impeding danger.

The two girls could be found arguing in the kitchen amongst lemon merengue and red velvet. By now, Elena had broken the news to Caroline that she'd seen Dean on my doorstep from inside the limo. She and Stefan had watched as words flew from our angry mouths like bullets shot from a hasty gun in a long-overdue war. Needless to say, she wasn't pleased with Caroline for inviting my opponent into her home.

"Just because this is your engagement party doesn't mean you can just invite anyone who walks in off the street" I had never seen Elena so frustrated.

Caroline kept a level head, "Actually," she daintily chewed a crab cake, "that's exactly what it means. Besides if you had seen him in that suit, you wouldn't have been so willing to turn him away either." Caroline let out a faraway sigh that mirrored the hitch in my pulse.

"He's a hunter Care! He's a trained killer who makes it his mission to murder the supernatural. You know, vampires, witches, _werewolves!_" The last one was supposed to get the blond back on track, but all it served to do was supply Caroline with her own line of ammunition.

"You just want him out of the way so he'll leave the Salvatores alone. Better yet," she stepped closer to Elena and crossed her arms. Gone was the girly, insecure Caroline. The brunette's motherly tone had brought out the bitch in her. Not that that was really such a difficult task these days. "You're afraid that if he stays too long, Bonnie will forget all about Damon, and then there'll be no one to distract you from how you really feel about him."

"Care, he helped Katherine kidnap and hold me captive in a tomb for nearly a month. My feelings of hate have not changed where Damon is concerned, but that doesn't mean I want to see him get hurt either." Caroline muttered on about sympathy for one's captor being the main symptom of Stockholm's Syndrome as a familiar shadow crept up behind me.

"Like it or not," he rasped, "we need to talk." My body stiffened.

"I have nothing to say to you." The arm that circled my wrist stopped me from walking into Elijah's path. His touch was cooler than I last remembered. Emptier in a way that I couldn't quite describe. It was very familiar. Just not on him.

"Look, I'm not exactly running through a field of daisies just to strike up a conversation with you either, but we've got a problem," he cocked his head toward Elijah, "You and Eyebrows need to get these people the hell out of this house. Now!" This time, he let me go.

"And you need to get back in your car and do what you do best: leave. _Stefan_ and I have things under control." His icy hands snaked around my waist before I could meet Elijah, and together we strolled through the front doors as if I had come here tonight on his arm. When we reached the night's coolness, he slammed me against the side of the house. "I was handling it, Dean." I was getting sick of his sudden interest in all things Mystic Falls.

"Like hell you were," he squeezed my hips for emphasis, "I tell you that a vampire's moving in and you wanna go welcome him into the neighborhood? I don't think so," He made it sound as unbelievable as if I'd offered to send Elijah a fruit basket, and if one had listened closely enough, he would almost swear that there was real concern in his voice. Almost. Neither of us said anything for a long time. He didn't move his hands. And I didn't push him away. We just stood there, remembering the last time he'd had my back pressed against cold vinyl siding. Yet this time my dad wasn't here to make him leave; I swallowed hard. Dean followed the movement of my throat with eyes that looked black in the moonlight and leaned a bit closer to my neck: our bodies so close to touching, the fabric of our clothes nearly rubbing.

Biting my lip, it was me who broke the silence, 'What do you care?" I pushed at his chest—feeling something and nothing all at the same time—using my energy to conjure up an image that was sure to send rivers of guests flowing from the house at any moment.

Instead of answering my question, Dean rubbed his eyes, turned his back on me, and used Damon as his excuse, "What does Leather Jacket say about your Calamity Jane routine? Does he know that you were about to play Cops and Robbers with a murdering dickbag?" I continued to ignore him, focusing instead on the furry bodies forming inside my head. Their long tails swished back and forth through the front doors of my brain in search of stray cheese droplets and any other crumbs that met its eye. Dean noticed the look on my face and dropped his interrogation. "What is it?" My lips moved quickly and quietly. Soon, a shout rang out from inside the house.

"Rats!" Just like I'd imagined, thousands of rats ran party guests from their chicken and fish entrees, straight onto the front lawn. Dean's eyes narrowed at me.

"They're not real." I whispered, "It's just a projection." He tore his eyes away as if it hurt to look in my direction. "You're the one who said to get everyone out of the house!"

"You couldn't have just pulled a fire alarm or something?" A side door opened, releasing more people. Elijah's eyes met mine. He nodded once and walked down the street, daring cars to hit him.

_Nicely played, Ms. Bennett. Perhaps you can be of some service in my search for the moonstone. If you want to keep your friend safe, that is._

I had no idea what a moonstone was, or why he thought he'd find it here at the Lockwood manor, but I made a mental note to look into that as soon as possible. For now, my problems were about to get a whole lot bigger. Deep in the woods, Reny and Felicia—another one of my students who had watched the festivities from the front lawn—struggled to get away. "Aw shit Felicia. Is it broken?" Felicia assured the headstrong girl that her knee was not broken, just bleeding. Beside me, Dean covered his mouth and stumbled. In the next second, he was gone. Felicia's voice hiked again, this time in fear.

"Please…pl …please don't hurt me!" I stood there, paralyzed with fear, because suddenly I had a feeling I knew exactly what Sam had come to tell me at the Grill. The scent of newborn that Rose had smelled earlier. The reason Dean had felt so cold, so empty, so familiar. He felt just like a…And his eyes were so black… My stomach lurched and pushed the Grill's signature club soda upward where it sat clogged behind my closed throat. The broken glass feeling in my chest further restricted my breathing.

Stefan and Sam were at my side in minutes. "Where'd he go?" Sam asked. I let him and Stefan drag me into the woods as I pointed numbly ahead. There on the ground lay Felicia, eyes frozen wide open with blood pooling around her leg. She looked dead, but under close inspection, Stefan announced that she was just in shock. She wasn't the only one. I too stood there with huge eyes, mouth frozen in a wide O at the sight that loomed before us. Dean straddled the lower part of Felicia's legs. Even in darkness, I could see the red veins oozing from the skin underneath his hungry, tormented eyes, and for just a second, I was reminded of the figure I'd seen lying in a Fairfax alley the day Damon and I had gone to find Rose. The figure whose silver ring peeked out between dirty black garbage bags on hands that burned underneath the sun's rays. That ring had looked so familiar; now I knew why: it was the same ring that was currently soaked in Felicia's blood upon Dean's finger.

Reny stood off to the side, a sight to behold. For the first time since I'd known her, she showed emotion other than sarcasm. A tear rolled down her eye, though not for Felicia, as I'd originally believed. No, this tear was for me. "Now you know," her husky voice was nothing more than a whisper. I tried to console the young girl, but as usual she stumbled backward before contact could be made. "And yet you still have no idea what you have to do. But I really hope you figure it out before it's too late," her words sent chills down my spine. Her glance sent my eyes back to the shell of a man sitting in a state frenzy on the forest floor.

"Dean, don't!" Sam lunged forward but wasn't close enough to stop his brother from slowly raising Felicia's blood to his mouth. The liquid gleamed dangerously close to his bottom lip.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," he said, sticking his tongue out to meet the blood, and then…


	14. LOOKS THAT KILL

**A/N: **Quick thank you to readers **Eddieizzy** and **TheSouthernScribe **(I knew you'd like the speech) for reviewing this story. It really helped me work through my block. Which brings me to the real note. Which comes in the form of a big fat "I'm sorry!" As you all might have been able to tell by this series, I love and adore Supernatural. I'm a Dean girl through and through and there's nothing more that I love than when he's heating up my tv screen. But if I had to name one thing that I hate about SPN it's sad/depressed/out of control Dean. Now, granted, it's mainly because I am completely at the mercy of his tears. I can't help it. They turn me into mush, and I hate seeing him like that. But you know what I hate even more? Writing him like that. So, if this chapter leaves a pit in your stomach like it did mine, then I'm sorry. Please don't get upset and leave this story. Because I promise it gets better. As always **READ AND REVIEW**.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing but a twisted imagination and a computer. The song title is by the Motley Crue. Now, let's get on with it, shall we?

LOOKS THAT KILL

Dean's POV

The last thing I saw before my head hit the ground were two green eyes focused in piercing concentration that brought a whole new meaning to the phrase "if looks could kill."

"An aneurism." That's what she kept telling Sam that she'd given me. "Just an aneurism." But even so, her face was twisted in confusion that deepened every time she snuck a peek at me, like something had gone wrong. "He was supposed to have healed as soon as I stopped." She sat off to one side of the yellow brick room still wearing her blue dress underneath Sam's suit jacket—now stained with black tears.

Sam sat slumped over to my far left with his eyes glued to the floor in the universal sign of _We're screwed_. Even when he spoke he never took his eyes off that spot. "He was turned a couple of days ago. He's been starving himself ever since." She didn't understand. She wanted him to make her understand, because of all the things she'd come to expect from vampires, self-control had never been one of them. Not starting off anyway. She'd seen bloodlust in the beginning. Lots of bloodlust that was supposed to go away with time and practice. But I knew that she was just adding the last part to keep the kid calm. In reality, Green Eyes knew that the need never fully went away. Hell, sometimes she still saw bloodlust when she looked in Leather Jacket's eyes. I could tell by the way she kept fixing the collar over her throat as if keeping her neck guarded were something she'd practiced until the habit had become second nature. So the moral of the story was that resisting a natural urge wasn't something that newborn vampires were supposed to do, and frankly, she hadn't even believed that they could.

Sam checked to see if I was awake, then started his story. And this time, he gave her nearly everything: from the day we met up after mom had plucked him from Hell till two days ago, when he got her number off her school's faculty directory. The only parts he left out were the parts he didn't know—how I'd gone back for her the night she took off with Leather Jacket—and the parts he knew I wouldn't want her knowing—the St. Augustine case. "I'm sorry you had to…I should have kept a better eye on him," he said to the tops of his shoes.

Green Eyes went to the door, grabbed the window's bars, and hung her head in defeat. I could have put her out of her misery by telling them both that I was awake; that the lingering headache her aneurism had caused was a walk in the park compared to what I'd been used to, but a part of me wanted to know what she could possibly say to top the last seven years. Her next statement made me regret that choice.

"After he left, there were nights that I hated him," her voice was low and distant, "But I never wanted this for him. Your mom begged me to save him, but I didn't know how. I thought that if I got you two back together, that would be enough, but I guess it wasn't. I guess I wasn't enough." I didn't need her blaming herself for my messes. I needed the arguing back, because at this rate, we'd go back to seven years ago. And neither one of us needed the hassle.

She heard me clear my throat, and slapped me in the face, adding to my headache. "You sold your soul to the devil? How the hell could you be so selfish!" _Now she's just overreacting, _I thought. Crowley's a lot of things: dick, douchebag, and dumbass usually come to mind, but he wasn't the devil. And I hadn't sold my soul. I caught her hand before she could take another swing at me. "And why the hell would you go off by yourself in Fairfax? For all poor Sam knew, you could have been abducted and turned. Oh wait," she pretended to think, "that's _exactly_ what happened!"

"What's the problem, Green Eyes?" My jaw still ached a little from the slap, "I thought you liked 'em like this. The dead-er the better, right?"

She yanked her hand back, using it to point a finger at me instead. Though I had a feeling it wasn't the finger she most wanted to use. "Don't you dare bring Damon into this. He's not the one who made you this way." Sam shifted along the far wall. Any minute, I knew he'd intervene. He didn't do well with confrontation amongst those whom he deemed were our allies. It's just how he was.

Unfortunately for Green Eyes, that wasn't me. "Too bad I can't say the same about you. I bet all he has to do is walk through the door, and you jump to attention."

Sam stopped her from slapping me again. "What I think my brother's trying to say is that, given your close relationship with the Salvatores, we were hoping that you could lend some of your vampire knowledge into helping us find a cure." She couldn't. Not because she didn't want to, but because she didn't even know if a cure existed. And even if it did, there was nothing she could do to help. Witchcraft was something that she just didn't do anymore. Period. End of discussion.

"The best I can do," she leaned against the door, carefully avoiding me as she answered Sam, "is let you guys stay here tonight. You'll be safe. I've put a seal on the room so Dean can't get out, and I've set an illusion spell over the door so Damon won't hear, see, or smell you. If he comes down here for a blood bag, this room will look empty. But the spell only lasts until sunrise so you have to be out by then." I asked her how the hell she expected me to pull that off; she ignored me. Upstairs, the front door clicked shut behind two sets of footsteps: one headed for what I assumed was the bathroom while the other one walked closer to the basement where we were. Whoever was coming our way smelled like cheap cologne, old leather, and decay.

"Fright Night's home. Better go see what he wants," I grinned at Green Eyes who tossed Sam's jacket back to him along with a silver ring. My silver ring.

"It'll protect him from the sun." And just like that, she left with the determination of someone who didn't want to get involved.

"So why the hell is Belinda taking up shop in yer kitchen, then?" Bobby had gotten here this morning, three days later than he was supposed to. And for those seventy-two hours that Sam and I waited for him, Green Eyes made sure that the wait wasn't in vain.

"What's with the sudden change of heart?" I looked between the heavy book resting in her hands and Eyebrows, who stood protectively behind her. "I thought you didn't do this anymore."

She took a deep breath before answering, "I don't. But Sam's a nice guy, and just because you're hell-bent on getting yourself killed, doesn't mean that he deserves to lose you." She treated the whole thing with businesslike detachment and got straight to work, and I'll admit it, I was a little turned on. More than a little, actually. Not that I bought her little charade for a second.

Eyebrows talked most of the time, called himself showing me the ropes and confirmed all of Sam's research. But all it sounded like to me was a contest to see who could issue the most "I'm just trying to help's" in an hour. It made me wonder how I'd missed his resemblance to Sam the first time around. The fight for normalcy. The overdramatic therapist routines. It all reeked of how Sam used to be before this life had broken us so badly we needed witchcraft to us back together again. The only things the vampire needed now were daddy issues and a blood addiction. Although, I guess I was taking care of the last one enough for the both of them.

Meanwhile, Green Eyes barely said a word. She preoccupied her time with spells and suspicious phone calls that she answered less and less as the days went by. But her silence didn't mean that she was all smiles about Eyebrows and Sam's ideas, especially when they landed us smack dab in front of Mitch's Motors: Mystic Fall's one and only spot for auto upkeep.

Mitch was a retired Hell's Angel who specialized in everything from petty body repairs to the full-blown restoration of classic American cars. Working for him had been a lot like working with Bobby: with his straight to the point, No Bullshit personality and relentless list of whining sad sacks who couldn't even muster a nod of thanks for the service. Still, he had given me a steady paycheck, not to mention a place to stay. And my thanks to him came without an apology. I wasn't up for facing that mistake.

"Hey, wait up a minute, Sam," I held him off from walking up the stairs that Mitch was stiffly pointing to, "What's the matter with you? You know we don't shit in the same crapper twice." The four of us walked up to apartment number J2. Sam had never been here before. For him, this _was_ a one-time trip to the john, but for Green Eyes and me, this place was just a little too familiar. She walked further behind, trying not to hyperventilate over what had happened the last time we were here. _Yeah, well at least she can't still smell us in the sheets._

"Look Dean, we need to stay somewhere that doesn't have such a high population, okay, so let's just be glad that Mitch isn't holding any grudges?" He grabbed my key and walked in, leaving me to wonder just why Mitch wasn't wielding any crowbars at my head.

"It's kinda hard to hold a grudge when you're being compelled not to," Green Eyes shot me a dirty look before walking in behind Sam. I didn't have a damn clue what she was getting at. Eyebrows was the one who suggested that Sam and I stay here for a while. All I'd done was ask the old man for a room. But as usual, if I said, "A," she automatically fired back with "B." No questions asked. And that, in a nutshell, is pretty much the only time we talked; when we were at each other's throats.

Bobby wanted to know why we hadn't asked Cas for help. "Where is he in all of this?"

"MIA as usual," I answered, half-watching Green Eyes mix some powdery green shit in a rusted pot. Her cell phone went off for the millionth time. She let it go to voicemail.

"Well what about Crowley?" Bobby was about as desperate not to work with these two as I was.

"He wants Dean's soul on a silver platter," Sam sneered to show Bobby that we'd definitely considered all avenues. They were all dead ends. Green Eyes was our only way out. The three of us stood in the bedroom, watching Eyebrows shove the phone in her face. She retaliated by snatching the phone away from him and holding her finger over the button, calling him on whatever threat he'd silently issued. Their lips never moved during the conversation, yet somehow, I knew that he was on the verge of pushing her too far.

"Balls!" Bobby scratched his head, hat in hand, "It's like 2010 all over again." He barreled through the door, and moved her book across the table.

"You sit here," he motioned to Green Eyes' new spot, "and you," the old man pointed in my direction, "get over here, now!" He placed a stack of journals in front of me on the opposite side of the table, which now looked like a huge puzzle comprised of newspaper clippings and pictures that didn't connect. "Don't anybody get up unless I say so."

Bobby rarely issued orders. He was different from dad in that way. He preferred to give helpful suggestions, then leave it up to us to decide whether or not to follow them, but today he made his demands clear, muttering that he didn't have time for any murderous rampages. Green Eyes sucked on a pen cap as she worried over putting our puzzle together. Every now and then, her shirt would slip low enough to reveal a slice of black lace. I couldn't speak for her, but at that moment murder wasn't exactly what I had in mind.

Sam followed my eyes down to the place that the lace dipped the lowest and elbowed me in the side. I barely noticed it, though, over the scrape of her teeth along the cap. Scrape. Scrape. Scrape. That's how it always started; singling out one sound. Then another and another until my head threatened to explode. _Just focus on Bobby, _I told myself. I had to keep focusing on Bobby.

"So what is it that we're supposed to be looking at here?" Eyebrows piped up. Bobby pulled up a chair beside Sam and straddled it, completely ignoring the question.

"It's a good thing you boys left town when you did. Fairfax has been cop central ever since they found the mayor's body." He pulled a copy of the coroner's report along with pictures of the crime scene out of his duffle. According to the report, Mayor Kripke's body was finally found in an alley two days ago, completely drained of blood. Green Eyes' pulse hitched, making a thump thump sound. Scrape. Thump. Scrape. Thump. I had to take a couple of breaths to distract myself.

"How long ago did he die?" she asked.

"Time of death dates back approximately eight days ago," Sam read the report to the others at the same time Bobby threw a black band on the table.

"Found this next to the body," he didn't look to happy about it either, "not that there was much of a body left when I got there. Those damn neck feeders swarmed all over him like ants to a juice box. No offense," he looked at me and Eyebrows. Green Eyes took the band and fondled the silver clasp, sucking in a breath.

"It's Rose's" she looked at Eyebrows. His forehead bunched up as he asked why Rose's bracelet would be next to the mayor's body. She ignores his question because she isn't finished. I watch her tuck a few stray hairs behind her ear—something she always did when she was nervous. The strands smell like fire. Like incense and flowers mixed with warm fruit that smelled dangerous like Heaven and Hell thrown together. It smelled like I remembered. The memory of those curls blowing that damn scent around caused my head to swim. _Get a grip!_ "I think whoever killed him was after her as well."

Bobby doesn't even stop to ask her what she means. "Rufus thinks that the vampires might belong to the same nest as the one who turned you," he motioned to me with one of the journals, "Their alpha's recruiting an army of newbies to find some Rose." Bobby was getting more wound up by the second. Sam leafed through the journals, asking why he needed her to break free when we'd already popped his seal during Corpse Bride's death.

Eyebrows' face turned blank. He started pacing around the kitchen, rubbing his chin while internally debating the details before us. "I thought she was lying," he admitted, "I thought she was just trying to convince me not to worry so much about her but…" he looked up at us as if realizing for the first time that he wasn't alone, "but she was telling the truth."

"Mind translating that into plain English?" I asked.

"Before I found out that Katherine was starving Damon and me so that she could pretend to be Elena, she told me that she wasn't the last one. That the Petrova line wasn't the last of the seven doppelgangers. That's why she wasn't afraid of Elena dying in the tomb," he was whispering to himself again.

"So where's the last one?" The clues were making even less sense than the mystery. "And what does he want with this Rose broad?"

"He's probably looking for another get out of jail free card since the vampire copy idea was a no-go," Bobby grabbed a beer from the fridge and popped the cap, "Hate to break it to you, but we have to work fast if we wanna kill 'em. He doesn't stay in the same place for long."

"If he's always on the run, then how do his creations know where to find him?" There were things about being a vampire that Sam hadn't learned from his research, and I hadn't bothered to fill him in. Until now.

"He talks to them. To…to us." All eyes were on me.

"He talks to you?" Eyebrows repeated like he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"How?" Sam asked next.

"What do you mean how?" Green Eyes ran her hand through her hair again. It was driving me friggin insane. "He's just talking…like…telepathically. I'm telling you Sammy, he's like you twelve years ago with the Ghost Whisperer shit."

"How do we kill him?" Green Eyes had that look. Like she was out for blood and didn't want to wait for the green light. Her phone rings some chick song loudly in my ear that strengthens the ache in my gut.

**I keep bleeding.**

**I keep**

**Keep bleeding love. **

She turns the phone off all together, as if it's driving her just as crazy as me, and judging by the guilt-laced sweat seeping from her clammy hands, I'm guessing that the calls must be coming from Leather Jacket.

"Originals are rumored to be almost indestructible. They need to be killed in very specific ways. Damon's trying to find a way that doesn't involve Rose but—"

Bobby flipped to a page in one of the journals and slammed it down in front of him. It was basically a list of Don'ts followed by two fundamental requirements: catch him at his weakest and rip his heart out. "If even one piece of it is left in him, he lives." Bobby explained.

"And, let me guess," I grabbed Green Eyes' hand before she could flip her hair again, "it's lights out for us instead." She yanked her hand away from me. Next to her, Eyebrows' phone goes off. He looks at the text.

"I have to go," his announcement was more to Sam than anyone else, because of all of us, my brother was the only one who really seemed to care. "Damon says it's important," he fixed Green Eyes with a _He's getting suspicious_ look that she met with narrowed eyes.

"I'll be there as soon as I can." She got back up and tested out different combinations of powders. After he drove off, there was nothing left to say. Bobby was staying the night, but needed to check on something in the next town over. And as for the rest of us? Well, we couldn't make a move until we had a plan, and it was kinda hard to cook up a plan when I wasn't even sure we had all the right ingredients. Like for starters, where did Rose fit into this whole doppelganger/Klaus awakening business? And how did Green Eyes know her?

Sam's stomach growled almost worse than mine. "I'm going out," he grabbed my keys before I could stop him. "You two want anything to ea—" he cringed and changed his wording, "You two want anything?"

Green Eyes shook her head. "The usual. Extra bacon, extra onions," I called back, even though the thought of food brought my mind back to the girl in front of me. By now, the garage had closed. All the mechanics had covered the cars, cleaned up, and gone home. She looked about ready to do the same.

We walked down to the main level in silence. I couldn't remember a time since I'd known her that she'd been so quiet. I should have been glad that, for once, she wasn't bitching at me. Only, now it was too quiet. I could hear her heart banging against her rib cage. Smell the blood rushing through her pulse. _Oh no,_ I pleaded with a God who probably didn't even recognize my voice and fingered the shot of Dead Man's Blood in my back pocket, _don't do this to me now. _Turning right now would give her just the excuse she needed to back out of all .

Green Eyes turned on the lights. A red pickup truck sat in the corner where she had for the last seven years—and probably decades before that. "Big Red! You miss me?" I slapped the side of the body and jumped into the bed. She definitely had some age on her, but all that meant to me was that she had more experience. And if there's one thing I like about both my cars and my women, it's experience.

From inside the bed, I could see a deck of playing cards lying between the front seats. Right where I left it. "I don't suppose, living in that big ass house, you still know how to play," Green Eyes watched me shuffle, trying to pretend that she didn't remember all those late nights in the back of this truck.

"Knowing how to play and wanting to play are two different things." Then she glanced up slightly and sighed, "What are the stakes?" My first instinct was to suggest that we play strip poker, until I realized that it was the same line I'd used our first night in this truck. She tried not to look interested when I told her to name whatever price she wanted. She'd turned her phone back on to look at the clock. It was a little after 12am. I half expected her to walk out of the garage, but she just stood there looking up at me. "Truth," she finally decided. "For every point earned, the winner gets to ask a question," she didn't wait for me give her the okay. She climbed up and took the cards so she could deal. "Is Black Jack okay with you?"

"Shuffle up and deal," my lips said the words, but they were running on auto pilot, distracted by the way her hands maneuvered the cards. Expertly cutting, shuffling, and dealing like she already knew how this game—and Klaus's—was going to play out. And I had no doubt in my mind that she was witch enough con whatever hand he dealt us. I wasn't a man of faith by any means, but I believed in that much. Even if she didn't.

The first game, she won, with me silently hoping that she'd keep the tough questions to a minimum. There was no need to turn this into some type of shitty daytime soap opera. She kept her eyes low during her question, "Why did you leave that night instead of killing me?" _Aw, shit_, _I knew this was gonna happen, _I thought. _Leave it to her to get all serious._ But at least this question was something I could handle.

"You spared Sammy's life." Her chest deflated a little bit as if she were looking for a different answer. One that drifted toward three deadly words that were even more deceitful than promises. I swallowed hard, and re-dealt the cards. Tonight wasn't just wasn't my night. She won three more rounds, asking questions about my favorite songs and foods that hadn't mattered in years, because she wasn't all that interested in scratching any deeper than the surface either, but when I finally hit twenty-one, she didn't have a choice.

"Why are you really helping us? And don't give me that 'Sam's a good guy shit. Why aren't you off grading papers or cleaning chalkboards?"

She bitterly looked off to the side and chuckled. "I tried."

One of the main rules of hunting was: never get too personal. Back in the early days of riding with Sam, I used to sit in front of him, sleep still fogging up the headlights in my brain and explain to him how a job was just that: a job. The people we saved were just nameless, faceless marks on a never-ending list of potential monster movie victims. We did our job and headed off into the line of another deadly crossfire. And above all else, we didn't bring these threats home with us. We checked them at the door. But eventually, we always ran upon something that couldn't be solved in under sixty minutes with fake IDs and salt guns. Eventually, we all found some cause worth taking home and avenging. Dad's cause was mom. Sam's was Jess. Mine was pretty much never having the luxury of actually finding a viable cause. Now it seemed as if Green Eyes had found her cause in me. And just like me, the last thing she wanted to do was add another fight to her list. But she was more of a rule number two kind of girl. She never left a job unfinished.

I let her grab the cards from me, completely lost for words. After all, what do you say to something like that?

Her fingers scratch at her scalp, sending that smell my way again. Suddenly, her image swam behind my eyes, splitting between the real version of herself who waited for me to show my cards, and a second Green Eyes whose lips twist up into a dangerously crooked smirk. "Eat me, Dean. I know you want to?" I look back at the other Green Eyes to see if she sees this chick, or if she's just here for me like a personal devil on my shoulder. She doesn't seem to notice which makes me feel like I'm trapped in some cheesy ass thirty-minute sitcom. I wait for the audience to laugh in the background. But they don't. Bizzaro Green Eyes licks her lips and bites down real hard until blood drips from her teeth down her neck. "Looks good doesn't it?" The trail burns a path that leads down to the crack between her tits.

"You're not real," my throat is so dry all I can do is swallow air.

The other Green Eyes is in front of me now. Her mouth moves rapidly and she's touching the veins underneath my eyes, but I can't hear what she's saying. It looks like, "They're getting darker, because you're hungry. You have to fight it." _What the hell do you mean "fight it?"_ _Wasn't she just telling me to bite her?_

"You're not real!" Even I can't recognize the voice that comes out; my throat burns like I've been drinking sandpaper shakes.

"I'm real. I'm as real as the hunger you feel for me. Can't you feel it?" Twisted Sister grabs a knife out of thin air and stabs me in the gut with it. When I look down, the knife is gone, yet the pain isn't. "Can't you feel me? Can't you just taste me? I can still taste you, Dean. Every time I kiss Damon, I taste you instead." She's got the knife again, dipping it in her blood and licking it off, "Tastes good." That's when he takes over. I can feel the vampire coming out, working my controls, grabbing Green Eyes by the ankle. "See you on the other side," Bad Green Eyes waves.

In an instant, I had the real Green Eyes pinned to the pickup's floor. "Listen to me, Dean. It's me. You have to fight it." She pretends to be so brave, but the vampire pulling my strings can tell how scared she is. He likes her scared. Likes cutting witches down a few notches, letting them know how their victims feel.

She tries to get away from me, which only makes me hold her tighter. "It's not as much fun when the shoe's on the other foot is it? Is that how you got Leather Jacket? Huh? Bet it makes you feel real good doing all that abracadabra shit. Is that how you got me?" I'm saying all this crap I don't mean. Or maybe I do. I'm so frigging hungry, I can't even tell what's me and what's the vampire anymore.

Green Eyes seems to be able to tell us apart though. Her tiny hands are at the sides of my face, grabbing my head to hers so that her lips can graze my ear, "This isn't you. Fight it!" She screams over her own heartbeat.

For a second, I'm able to come back. "What the hell do you think I'm trying to do here?"

"Well try harder!" That's the wrong answer. My fangs snap at her jawline. The vampire remembers how much she used to like it when I lick at the spot on her neck. She still does. But, at the same time, it scares her that she does. _That makes two of us. _I do it a couple more times to get her heartrate back up, so that the blood can pump faster. She tries whatever she has to to distract me from biting down: rubbing my veins, yelling for me to fight, but none of it works. Not until she touches the necklace Sam gave me to my chest, to the place where my heart should beat.

I'm off her in seconds, jabbing a syringe into my arm faster than she can say, "What the hell?" Dead Man's blood wrangles the demon in so I can try to salvage any chances of her sticking around. I crack jokes that she doesn't laugh at, and ask her what her card was. A jack and an ace. Once again, she's got twenty-one. Her phone rings.

"I um…"

"…gotta go," I avert my eyes. She stumbles out of the truck just as Sam drives up in my car, oblivious to the shit storm brewing just minutes ago inside.

"Are you going to be okay tonight?" she asks.

"Is that your question?" I can't even look at her. Seeing the disappointment in those green eyes would only serve to make me hate myself, and her, more. She stuffs the cards in her coat pocket, smelling like everything _but_ regret, and walks backward out of the garage.

"No," she struggles to catch her breath, "I think I'll save my question for another time."


	15. ROLLING IN THE DEEP

**A/N: **You guys have been awesome. I've gotten so many reviews, that I'm just going to send a mutual thank you to **TheSoutherScribe**, **SyLaR'sMEmoRyGuRL**, **mrs mathis**, and **TeamPaul15**. You guys are amazing for reviewing and/or adding me to your alerts. And thank you to everyone who reads but doesn't have the time or FF account to review. Now, before we get to this chapter, let me just say that I have mixed feelings about it. Just like you all, I am rooting for certain characters, but the chapters sometimes don't work out the way that I envision them. This is one of those chapters. It took me down a completely different path. Still I hope that you enjoy.

**Disclaimer: **I really tip my hat to those who own TVD/SPN. Because they have the daunting task of presenting a coherent storyline every week. And also to Adel who's song gave me a chapter title. Now, let's get on with it shall we?

ROLLING IN THE DEEP

Bonnie's POV

Damon is pissed. He looks to me for a sign that what he is hearing isn't truly what it sounds like. And it isn't. It's everything that Stefan has said made a thousand times worse by the extra information that I've been withholding. It's too much right now to meet his incredulous gaze without succumbing to the pressure of telling him everything. So instead, I pretend to sort through my email, clicking past advertisements for seven-day trips to the Caribbean and notice upon notice reminding me to send all semester grades to Lockwood University's online student access portal. They land inside the trash bin, right along with a stack of ungraded final exams—_Merry Christmas, Anthropology & Folklore1113—_where they take a backseat to the scent of black orchid candles spilling syrupy purple wax into a bowl of juniper oil.

The spell—for binding a vampire's powers—was one of Grams' personal favorites, and so far, it was the only one from the grimoire for which I had actually found use. The ancient book wasn't your typical source for amateur slumber party love spells, as Damon chose believe. It was an age old relic that held diagrams of powerful crystals, recipes for proper Wiccaning rituals, and dangerous summoning spells. Elena, Caroline, and I sat in a far corner of the study, searching for Dean's cure, but my mind wasn't in it. It was split between thoughts of the vampire I wanted to hate and the one I hated wanting.

There are cuts along my back that still haven't fully healed from where Dean slammed me against the Lockwood estate and bruises in places they shouldn't be, telling the story of a new-found strength just barely concealed that I try to hide with overflowing bubble baths and heavy flannel pajama sets. And when that proves difficult, I take to showering and sleeping alone. "I'm too tired tonight," I lie. "I don't want Elijah to smell my scent on your skin." It's another falsehood that Damon nonchalantly shrugs off as if he were bulletproof, but I know that he notices. He notices our distance in hollow kisses that used to be filled to the brim with passion, or at the very least, angry lust. He hears tension it in my short, clipped responses that always spark fights about the hushed secrets between he and Rose that conveniently run dry whenever I enter a room. And how it's really just his surprise at actually seeing me in a room with him since I'm rarely even home these days.

It's even evident in the steady breathing that shouldn't be possible after sex with Damon, but somehow it is, growing colder inside a love we hadn't even known we'd forged. Oh, he still watches me. Only this time, he isn't looking for an entry point into my veins. He's trying to figure out how we'd regressed to our pre-cohabitation stage at a time when we should have been growing closer. Still, in all of this, the biggest telltale sign is the neighbors. They spin warnings of a seven-year itch that he can't help but heed. It makes him suspicious. It makes me anxious though. Because in a town as small as Mystic Falls if you don't start talking, someone else will.

"Hello, Earth to Bonnie," Caroline waved her hands in front of my face, trying to drag my attention away from the candle's flame, "were you listening? I asked you what color garter you think I should wear under my dress." When I don't respond, she nudges me in the side.

"Hmmm?" I answered, still a little distracted, "I'm sorry Caroline. What were you saying?"

Elena sets the grimoire on the table in front of us so that she can turn and face me, "Bonnie, are you okay? You've barely said two words the whole night. And what's with the looks that Damon's been sending you? Are you two fighting?" _No, _I wanted to scream, _to fight you'd actually have to see each other for more than two hours at a time._

"Screw Damon!" Caroline didn't care that every vampire within a five mile radius could hear her outburst, "What I want to know, is what's going on with you and De—" Elena covers Caroline's mouth and nods to Damon, who sat discussing Rose's problem with Alaric and Stefan not even ten feet away from us. Caroline takes out a piece of paper and writes Dean's name on it. I pretended to read a truth serum spell from the grimoire while they waited for an answer that I was still trying to find myself.

During those nights I spent at his apartment, I saw him fight with himself. Watched him mentally try to convince himself that he is not this…this monster. That somewhere underneath all the bloodlust, he's still human. But it's getting harder and harder for him to separate himself from the vampire, because it's becoming more of who he is.

He shoots up most often when we're alone, making jokes in the process about how there should be AA meetings for vampires. "They could call it something like Type A Anonymous. Get it?" he smiles at me like he's not dying and the curl of his devilish grin makes me think of rickety headboards that sigh and moan above thrashing bodies. Of kisses that burn all the way down. But then he sticks that needle into his arm, pushing the plunger down until the deep burgundy liquid disappears beneath his pale skin. He's looking for another hit that will take away the cravings as well as it had the first time, and make him feel like the hero he is, instead of the villain he's made himself out to be. But nothing calms the thirst. That's when it feels like _I'm_ dying. Especially when he pins me against him, because I can feel his fear of losing control radiating from his skin; so hot atop the coolness of his touch. And it to be honest, laying underneath him scared me too. But for an entirely different reason that I wasn't willing to admit to anyone. Not even myself.

"Nothing," I vaguely whisper, tearing off the corners of Dean's playing cards and adding them to the soupy mix to complete the spell. "I'm just helping an old friend. That's all." Caroline looks at me as though she doesn't believe me, grabs the book back, and flips through it as hastily as if it were her life that depended upon us finding a cure. My phone chirps at the exact moment that Caroline flips to an anti-imprinting recipe. The text message is from an unknown caller who urges me to:

* tell Eyebrows that Bobby got us a location. 38°51′9″N 77°18′15″W*

A short Google map search of the coordinates from my phone leads me to a small, secluded backstreet in Fairfax. Stefan nods once to let me know that he got the message which Damon meets with a questioning look. Beside me, Caroline is throwing quizzical looks of her own.

"Did you guys see that?" She throws the book back on the table, Anti-imprinting recipe still lying face-up. "It just turned by itself."

The spell was harmless. In fact, it wasn't even a spell. It was a browning page that warned about the dangers of witches and vampires sharing blood. **However**,it read,** if an enchantress should be so unwise as to share her blood with a child of the night, the curse can be broken only by letting the kindred spirit feed. **Stefan and I had spent many a night hovered over this spell, trying to figure out who this kindred spirit that breaks the curse could possibly be. He theorized that it was Damon. I concluded that I would rather die than find that out.

Elena tried to convince Caroline that it was probably just the wind, but the blond didn't by it, if her following statement, "The wind my ass!" was any indication. "It moved…like…on its own." While my two best friends debated upon whether or not the spontaneous page flip was the result of paranormal activity, I scanned the sparsely filled study, growing more vengeful by the moment. It wasn't supposed to be this way. Alaric, now that he was free of Isobel, was supposed to be enjoying this vampire-free existence in Jenna's arms while simultaneously elating and fearing the arrival of their unborn baby girl. Stefan and Damon should have been living happily miles apart, reunited only by hometown celebrations and late-night phone conversations that they both denied enjoying. Across town, there was an empty party hall just waiting to be filled with naughty bridal gifts, lusty bridesmaids, and a half naked male review who danced as if they, in the name of Rhett Butler, frankly didn't give a damn. And even Rose deserved a life unburdened by this losing battle. Grams didn't want this life for me, and I didn't want it for them.

"I'm sorry that you had to spend your bachelorette party here with us." I whispered to Caroline. She risked another attempt with the grimoire while assuring me that being here was better than trying to write vows that didn't start with, "I knew I loved Tyler the first moment I watched him turn into a werewolf." She bit her right thumbnail—a sure sign that she was lying about where she'd rather be—and flipped to a page where the corner was turned down.

"Bonnie," Elena read the page before Caroline could turn away, "what's this?" We were now entering the jewel section of the book. It was color coded, starting with the lightest gemstones and ending with Onyx. The current gem that had caught the brunette's attention was the moonstone. The page gave no further explanation as to what the jewel was used for except that it was a very rare and powerful gem that should have been destroyed centuries ago. I told them about Elijah's quest to find it at Caroline's masquerade ball. "What does it do?" Elena asked.

"I've been looking through some of Grams' old notes, but so far I've found nothing." I shook my head. By now, Rose was looking in our direction, growing as curious as Damon had every time "Unknown" sent a new text to my phone. Her prodding eyes made me want to change the subject to something that would interest her less, like proper floral displays for winter weddings.

Elena, who didn't notice Rose's sudden investment in our conversation, continued, "Why would he think that the Lockwoods have it?" I shook my head again. Caroline rifled through her purse until she produced a smooth, smoky white oval that matched the moonstone with startling perfection. "Caroline," Elena screamed, ignoring discretion all together, "why do you have Elijah's moonstone?"

"Actually, it's called the Jewel of Eclipse, and it isn't Elijah's. Or any other vampire's for that matter." She rotated the stone around to show us that it got its name from the fact that it holds both the sun and the moon curse. Making it just as important to werewolves as it was to vampires.

"Where did you find that?" Rose moved over to our small triangle, which was slowly expanding into a circle now that Stefan, Damon, and Alaric were had followed suit. Caroline, loving the attention that telling her story brought, sat back and slowly recounted the events of her first winter break with Tyler freshman year at the estate.

"He woke up, hungover as usual, and was still reeling over the fact that he had accidently killed that Sara girl at his party. Ugh, she was such a slut!" the blond sidetracked, "Can you believe that she actually tried to make out with Tyler like right in front of me? I mean, we weren't exactly together at the time, but—"

"Can we cut the _Sweet Valley High _moments out of this story and get to the part where your presence in my home is actually relevant?" Damon rolled his eyes at my glare as if he were only saying what everyone else was thinking.

"Right," she started again, "so Tyler and I were asleep in his family estate when he woke up and stumbled over a loose floorboard. When he sobered up a couple of hours later, he checked the floorboard and found the jewel lying underneath some old papers." She went on to explain how Tyler's uncle Mason, whom we'd all met at Mayor Lockwood's funeral, had come to the estate under the guise of spending the holidays with his late brother's family, but instead started asking Tyler about the moonstone. Caroline described how she kept the stone in her panty drawer because, "it was the last place that Mason would look, of course," which given the fact that Elena, Caroline, and I had all felt his wandering eyes visually stripping our bodies down to their bare essentials, seemed highly naïve on her part. Still, after the holidays were over, Caroline continued to hold onto the jewel while Tyler spent countless hours researching its abilities. "It was the first time I'd ever seen him take an interest in anything other than getting trashed," she finished with a wistful look.

"So what does it do?" Stefan asked.

This time, it was Rose's turn to answer, "Coupled with the doppelganger's death, Klaus can use it to free the curse which will allow vampires to walk the Earth at any time of the day." She shuddered for effect as if this were not good news for her. Damon observed her reaction with narrowed eyes that matched my own. For the first time in almost a week, we were on the same page, wondering how Rose knew so much about someone she claimed to have never personally met. Yet, before either of us got the chance to interrogate her, Stefan pinned Caroline with another question as to whether or not anyone else knew about the moonstone/Jewel of Eclipse.

"Please," she flipped her hair, "and give this town another reason to gossip? As if sleeping with Matt last week, which was a big mistake by the way, wasn't enough," she lost focus again in order to discuss how Tyler would kill Matt and any other vampire who got in the way if he ever found out. At the word "vampire," she looked over at Elena with a superior look that silently sang: _My boyfriend is stronger than yourrrrrs._

Elena instinctively put her hand over Stefan's and tried to focus on the topic at hand, "Werewolves are strong, Care, but unless there's a full moon, vampires are still our biggest threat." Caroline turned to me, still wearing her sly smile and asked me what tomorrow was, knowing very well that tomorrow's full moon ended the moon's monthly cycle.

"And we all know," Caroline took out her bridal catalogue again, absentmindedly flipping through it, "that vampires loose some of their powers when werewolves gain theirs." The seven of us sat around, silently trying to digest a pill that only went down smoothly when lubricated with watered-down information on where to find Klaus and how to kill him when we got there. Information that Stefan and I could never tell, because Damon would never willingly accept its source.

Stefan caught my eye in the dim-lighting. _I didn't think that Elena would ever forgive me when she found out about Katherine, but eventually she came around._ My eyes travelled to where he had sunk down beside her and stroked her hair as she rested her head upon his chest. They were the picture of true love. A picture that Damon and I, in better times, had drawn proverbial graffiti upon just to show that we didn't need affection to bond. Especially when the pain of rejection had proved to be a much stronger glue. Only now, that glue was melting away, and when Leona Lewis's "Bleeding Love" filled our silence, I excused myself and jumped at the chance to chip the adhesive even further.

_Sorry Stef, but Elena doesn't fly off into jealous rages when she doesn't get her way._

No sooner than my conversation with Reny—who wanted to know if one witch could break another witch's spell. The answer was "no."—had ended was Damon leering over me, caging me between himself and the wall with his hands. "What are you up to?" he slurred. His speech and breath were heavily spiked with scotch and if his liver weren't immune to it, I would swear that he was an alcoholic. Although technically, we were all becoming mild alcoholics these days, even Stefan who preferred to suck his poison through Elena's willing veins.

Damon's eyes were glazed over as well, awaiting an explanation that my "You're just being paranoid," didn't seem to satisfy.

"And you're a terrible liar, Judgie," he sing-songed. Then his cerulean gaze softened to the point of concern. "Was it the speech?" Damon asks. "Dammit, I knew that speech was too much." His nervousness was so sincere and so heartbreaking that for a second, it makes him look like a normal guy whose confusion grows by the mile when I tell him that my distance wasn't caused by his engagement party speech. "Then what is it?" he growled in my ear.

Suddenly, it didn't matter that something was missing between us, because Damon was gripping my bruised hips in the same way that Dean had earlier this week, and I couldn't help wanting to finish with the former what the latter had unknowingly started. I brought Damon's mouth down to mine and opened for him, swallowing the rest of his questions whole. He responded by throwing us through the vacant library and slamming me atop a heavy wooden table. _We needed this, _I tried to convince myself. We needed this impromptu tryst that was fueled by deafening expletives, bloody bite marks to his skin, and mind-numbing asphyxiation that bordered on attempted murder, because as stated earlier, Damon and I have lost this part of our friendship—reluctant as it may have been at first—and I want to blame it on Dean and Rose. As they set out for destruction, they destroy us in the process. Force us to choose one side from the other despite the fact that we all have the same agenda: kill Klaus. But not tonight. Tonight, my only agenda was flipping us over so that he was the one lying on the table.

His screams echoed painfully inside the hollow room, completely drowning out the sound of his flesh splitting apart to make room for my fingernails. His pain was cathartic and the sight of his blood pooling inside the ripples in his stomach made me want to taste him. Taste his blood until my thoughts were filled with no one else but him.

When the wounds healed, I looked back up and found the sarcasm that had been missing from his smirk. His hands darted out and flipped me back into a more submissive position. "My turn," he whispered. Before I could fully register what he was doing, he had my hips elevated, tasting me the same way that I had wanted to lick at his blood. Damon's tongue reminded me that this is what I should want. He was stronger, older, and much more experienced than Dean. He had been to exotic places, picked up their tricks from books dedicated to the voracious appetite and had perfected them until the moves became his own. And above all else, he had abandoned all of those locales the moment my luggage hit his doorstep. That was more than I could say for the alternative, even if his lips didn't burn the way I begged for them to.

"Tell me you need me," Damon commanded into my knees. My strangled speech did nothing but encourage more torturous nips, "Say it!" Leona spoke before I could deny his request, dragging his attention to her moans of sanguine adulation. I fumbled for the phone lying next to me, silently praying that it was Reny who was interrupting my fulfillment. It wasn't. Damon grabbed the phone before I could, held it out of my reach, and pressed the "Talk" button.

"Who is this?" the very question itself was an accusation. There wasn't a single part of me that didn't want to burst Damon's brain cells and take my phone back. He had no right to intercept my personal phone calls, and the rage inside of me was building with each passing second. But a part of me knew that the anger I was directing at him was really caused by guilt and sexual frustration.

"Put her on the phone, Ass Wipe!" The crack of his voice alone was enough to send me over the edge that Damon had left me clinging desperately to when he'd stopped his ministrations. That's how sadistic I'd become.

All went deathly quiet while the vampire in front of me tried to figure out who the call was from. He looked at the unknown number plastered along the white screen, then back to me for confirmation. Finally, recognition dawned on him and he bared his teeth as if the action could be heard over the phone and barked, "Didn't I kill you?"

Dean's voice crackled orders on other line, conjugating the word "fuck" into every tense in the English language until it artfully decorated every sentence that he spoke with a speed that took skill.

"Speaking of which," Damon bit his anger back with an evil smile, "Bonnie and I are a little busy at the moment," he held the phone out, hoping the new-born vampire could hear my shaky breathing over the phone. "Now, leave town and lose this number." It wasn't a suggestion.

"Or what, Fang Face?" Dean, like Damon, wasn't backing down.

"Or you'll be Mystic Falls' next animal attack." With that, Damon slammed my phone against the wall where it rained down upon us like a million tiny pieces of plastic confetti. To me he said, "I'll give you ten seconds to explain before I rip your heart out!"

"You'll be dead before you get to five," I spat back, hoping that all those late-night poker games with Dean had strengthened the effects of my poker face. In a matter of seconds, Damon and I stood face to face, waiting for the pain to come, for the other to lose his or her temper and start the round of abuse. Would he actually make good on his threat this time? Or would he watch me incessantly kill him: separate skin from bone over and over again until the magic became too much to handle and destroyed me in the process?

In the end, none of that happened. Instead, he used bitter cynicism to hide my newly inflicted scars that reminded him more and more of Katherine. "And everyone thought that it was Elena who was doomed to carry out Katherine's legacy," he trailed the pulse point in my neck lightly, "She would have been really proud of you though."

"Don't be disrespectful, Damon," I snapped, knowing full well that I didn't deserve the comparison. "I don't appreciate that. You know that I won't just leave you the minute he walks back into my life. But you also know that I can't just stand by and watch someone suffer either. Especially if there's anything that I can do about it." It wasn't what Damon wanted to hear. He wanted to hear me say that Dean needing me was poetic justice, and that I couldn't be happier with the turn of events, but I couldn't. All I could give him was my promise to give him the truth.

"I get that you always want to save the world. I really do," he smoothed my hair down and peered into my eyes, "I don't understand it, and it's still mildly nauseating, but I get that why you made that ridiculous promise to Shelia. What I don't get is why you can't just pass this one along to Stefan. You're not strong enough to deal with this, Bon Bon. You're not Emily."

I pushed his hands away with my arms, "Well you sure as hell didn't have a problem with me using Emily's emotion numbing spell on you after Katherine died." The danger was back in his glare, matching mine. "Look," I reasoned, "he turned about a week ago, and hasn't fed yet. I'm just helping him find a cure."

"That's simple," Damon smirked, "stake him." He got serious again after seeing my disapproval, "And what exactly do you get out of helping him?" I told him about Bobby and the journals he'd collected. About how they advised us to weaken Klaus before ripping his heart out. And finally about Klaus' location. Damon took a deep breath before walking toward the door.

"Damon, where are you going?" His lazy movements had "idiocy" written all over them.

"The hunter wants to swim with the sharks? Then it's time to throw a little blood into the mix. Go grab Stefan and Rose and meet me in the car." He walked away before I could issue him an apology for the hurt I'd obviously caused him. Then, as if he could read my mind, he turned back around to face me. "Next time, use this." He threw a stake into my hands, "It's much quicker," and left me standing there with a fire forming in the depths of my heart. This would not end well.


	16. SECRET TREATIES

**A/N: **I know that I've been away for far too long and I'm sorry. I've been studying for finals for the last three weeks, but I'm finally finished. I want to thank **mrs mathis**, who took the time out of her busy schedule to review. That means so much. Thank you! And to **TheSouthernScribe** who I believe also had finals (hope that they went well). Now as you all know, I try really hard to slowly build up the tension between my triangle and the troubles that they face with Klaus with each update. Sometimes, I feel confident in it and sometimes it is a hit and miss type of situation. But with this chapter I feel that it's both. I've had it planned and half written for a while but the conversations were all out of whack. I finally fixed them enough for me to present them to you all. So I hope that you enjoy. Finally, as you all know, TVD has been dropping some heavy bomb shells over the last three weeks. It is for that reason, that I feel like this chapter is the perfect chapter to drop a few of my own. I am so excited because I've been holding the secret in this chapter in since I first started writing this. And now I finally get to share it with you, so please **READ AND REVIEW**. If at the very least, to tell me that you haven't lost interest (and that I haven't wasted 9 months of my life nursing this baby of a story that is no longer relevent. Ha

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing, but the late nights spent thinking about this plot makes me sure wish that I did. Now, let's get on with it, shall we?

SECRET TREATIES

Dean's POV

In this line of work, whenever something seemed too good to be true, you could usually bet your ass that there were a long list of red flags attached to it. Wishing wells that granted wishes with a deadly fine print, get out of Hell free cards, and killing Lilith, to name a few, seemed well enough at first bite until the floodgates opened up. Then, we usually found ourselves stuck directly inside the eye of the storm, asses to the fire.

On the flip side of that coin, plans with an expiration date marked yesterday were even more common with us, because leads didn't come easily. We lived for this job. Twenty-four-seven, seven days a week we ate, slept, and breathed the hunt. We stayed in shitty towns where the average downpour rained 666 inches worth of sulfuric acid a day, and for most people, hitting up the Salvation Army donation box at Christmas time was the closest that they were coming to suiting up against evil. So sometimes tips that were "too good to be true" were something that we just couldn't pass up. No matter how bad the odds looked.

This thing we'd cooked up with Green Eyes was right up our alley, as far as lucky breaks were concerned. The plan wasn't foolproof by any means, but if everything went the way it was supposed to, the last thing Klaus would see before his head hit the pavement would be his own heart smiling down at him from the end of a wooden stake, and I'd be back to walking sunny side up, with or without the juiced up ring Green Eyes had rigged for me. Our only problem was that there was only one thing that was guaranteed to jelly this alpha's knees and Green Eyes didn't want its blood on her hands. She preferred to risk her own life instead.

"Are you sure she can handle this?" What Sam really meant to ask was if I was sure that I could handle spending a whole night with her. The questions had started almost as soon as I'd pulled away from Green Eyes' street and resurfaced every chance they got: at stop lights, at drive-thrus, and between every song that played; from ACDC to ZZ Top. His feathers ruffled with each new worry that popped into his head. "I mean you heard what they said back there. If she's not careful, this'll kill her." Translation: "If she's not careful, _you_'ll kill her." I kept my eyes to the road, taking deep breaths every now and then when the questions became too heavy to handle in one sitting. "Aren't you even the least bit worried about what this might do to her?" His voice spiked in disbelief. He really believed that I couldn't have cared less about her. At least I was fooling somebody.

My shoulder went up into a half shrug. "If she wants to fry her brains protecting Dracula's mistress, then so be it." His headrest buckled underneath the added weight of his head as he turned away and dialed a number on his phone. If there hadn't been so much tension between Green Eyes and me, I might have stuck up for her. Admitted that she was the last person that I wanted to get involved with this. Or maybe I would have assured him, like I'd once done to Bobby, that as long as she was on my watch, nothing bad would happen to her. Because I wasn't going to let her short circuit on my behalf. But all that went without restatement. As did the conditions of our deal.

Not even twelve hours ago, I'd opened the door to find Green Eyes standing outside my apartment crowded by a trio of snarling vampires, one of which who had held her wrist in a vice grip that must have hurt even though she didn't wince at the pain once. "I think we found a way to kill Klaus," her voice was quiet and steady as she carefully chose her next words, "but we have to move quickly." She turned to the walking leash to her right for the last part. Then back to me. "And we have to work together." There was warning in her eyes that dripped down and coated the demands on her tongue. She wanted Leather Jacket and me to play nice, and wouldn't hesitate to spit our melons skull deep if we failed to comply.

"No! That was not our agreement!" Leather jacket tightened his grip on her arm.

She narrowed her eyes at his bony fingers, reveling at how easily they peeled away from her flesh and walked into the room as if she lived here. "Well, it's time for a new agreement." Her eyes fell upon the bottle of Jack sitting next to Sam's laptop with envy, mentally trying to decide how much liquor was necessary to get her through the day. Funny, I'd wondered the same thing.

Two shots of JD's best and a coke from the busted fridge had finally put her in the mood to talk. She cocked her head in the direction of the three vampires still waiting for the okay outside my door and looked expectantly up at me. For a second, I didn't follow. "An invitation would be nice," called out an irritated British voice that sounded just like…

"Why am I not surprised?" Bobby stood slowly, blinking every step of the way. If this was recollection looked like, then I hated to see his idea of surprise.

"Guys," Green Eyes sighed once we were all standing inside the closed apartment, "this is Rose." _Rose. _Her name echoed through me like a gunshot, drowning out whatever sorry excuse Eyebrows was giving Sam for bringing Bela 2.0 to our doorstep, sans heartbeat. Not that she'd really had that far to go in the first place.

"At the Lockwood/Forbes engagement party, did you two happen to notice a man lurking in the corner as if he were looking for something?" Sam shook his head no and asked him why.

Leather Jacket spun Green Eyes around by her shoulders, hands creeping dangerously close to her throat at the same time that his face dipped closer to hers. "That's why you stayed behind at Bridezilla Barbie's masquerade ball, isn't it." It wasn't' a question. He released one of her shoulders and replaced it with one of Eyebrows', dragging him toward them. "And you've been helping her this whole time!" Mitch banged on the door for me to keep it down, threatening to send my ass back out onto the street where he thought I belonged and stormed away muttering about how he didn't even know why he'd let me come back after the stunt I'd pulled seven years ago. He had no idea that I hadn't given him any choice. Green Eyes, on the other hand, continued to stare at the couch with tired eyes that grew heavier by the second. She looked like she hadn't slept in weeks, and given that I had been back for two of those weeks, I was guessing that she hadn't.

"Damon, we must stay focused. You can resume your quarrel with the witch at a later date," Vampire Bela stepped between the couple and placed a hand on Leather Jacket's chest to hold him off. Aside from the invitation request, she hadn't looked in my direction once. I figured that it was more than likely because she knew already knew what I was thinking: _How the hell did a bitch like her cheat Death at every turn when I couldn't even risk looking at the decrepit horseman the wrong way without him sending me back?_ The last time I'd talked to her she had a gang load of hellhounds on her ass—so did I—and was begging for sympathy. Now it looked as if the heartless skank had traded the tearful calling card for a new address and a set of fangs—yet another thing we had in common. And the similarities just kept coming.

"I'd listen to her if I were you," I nodded toward the vampire formerly known as Bela. Leather Jacket gave Green Eyes a final glare that I made me want to rip his lungs through his chest before running toward me. We glared at each other. Face to face.

"And if I were you," he crossed his arms over his chest, "I'd get into that hearse you call a car and put as many miles between Bonnie and yourself as possible."

I mirrored his hands-over-chest move and stepped even closer, "Then I guess it's a good thing you're not me." Bobby, who had seen enough bloodshed—especially from vampires and even more commonly from me—to last him a lifetime, pried the two of us apart, barely even affected by the vampire adrenaline rising like thick black smoke off of Leather Jacket and me.

"We're stepping into World War IV here and you two can't even put your differences aside for a damn minute without letting some retired cheerleader twist your cherries into a knot?" His anger was more toward me than Leather Jacket, which was evident in the way he shoved me toward the opposite corner of the room. Hard. "Now let the vamp state his peace." He turned to Eyebrows and barked out, "Well don't just stand there with your thumbs up your rear. Let's get this story rolling."

Eyebrows took out a smoky white rock and set it next to Sam's computer, which the latter took no time in looking up. There was no need though. Eyebrows was already calling it by its name—Jewel of Eclipse—and describing ways that we could weaken Klaus before he used the stone and Rose to jack himself out of his box. "If your journals are correct," he directed at Bobby, "and he needs to be weakened before we can kill him, then our best bet is to catch him during the next full moon, which is tomorrow. The growing strength of his werewolves will hopefully diminish his powers enough for us to strike." Sam and Bobby looked content Eyebrows' plan, but something still didn't seem right. Every alpha had a Lilith so to speak. Some evil broad that held the key to busting her leader's chains. So either there was more to this full moon thing than they were letting on to, or they didn't have all the info. Looking at Bela/Rose, I was willing to bet that she had locked the last piece of our puzzle between those upturned lips of hers.

"So why's he gunning for you?" I asked.

Vampire-Bela rolled her eyes and made a big deal of sighing. She was stalling. It was something I'd seen the real Bela do whenever her dumbass schemes had gotten her into a jam so deep she had no choice but to run back to our doorstep with her tail between her legs. The fear that flashed in her eyes now made me smirk even more. I didn't know how she'd been turned, but I was sure that she deserved it and didn't feel a bit of sympathy for her. Her eyes flickered over everyone in the room, settling on Leather Jacket for a second longer than Green Eyes appreciated before meeting mine again.

"I wasn't going to burden anyone with this, given how I haven't seen Klaus in half a millenni—"

Leather Jacket sidestepped Green Eyes' glare and blocked me from the vampire. "Get. To. The. Point. Rose," he emphasized his words by bearing his fangs a little. To my surprise, she actually staggered back a little. Not enough for anyone who wasn't a vampire to see, but more than I was expecting coming from a chick who, when she was alive, would have sold her own mother for a happy meal.

"The Petrova line was not that last of the seven vampire doppelgangers," she paused in order to draw in another long breath, "My full name is Rosalinda Isabela Ellsworth. After conceiving my child at fifteen, I fled from my familial colony in Antarctica in search of England. That's where I met Klaus. He took me in, introduced me to Trevor, and told me that I reminded him of a woman he used to know. Of a woman he'd once created, and that if the children of his other six creations should perish before me, we would meet again. Then he turned me…" The five of us stared at her; for once I couldn't think of a damn thing to say. She sank down into the couch, fingers tapping the arm rests. "Now that Katherine and my callous doppelganger have met their deaths, I am the only one left who can break Klaus' curse."

"Wait! Are you saying that," Sam stopped typing, "that you're last surviving dopp—"

"Yes," she smirked, standing to meet him at his computer, "And I believe that my only living descent asked you two to save her from a curse a while back. It might do you well to remember her. She went by the name Bela."

_Shit!_ The memory of Bela's voice over the phone as the hounds came for her was as clear as if they'd happened yesterday. At the time, I'd believed that she'd gotten exactly what she deserved. That the only curses she was under were the ones that her sour deals had created. But for once in her life, she was actually telling the truth. And by letting that life end, we'd created another mess. A mess that wouldn't go away until Klaus killed Rose.

"If killing the doppelganger will weaken him then why don't we just—" My look cut Bobby off in mid-sentence. I knew Green Eyes well enough to know that she was nothing if not loyal. There wasn't much love lost between herself and Rose, but keeping the neck feeder walking upright kept Leather Jacket quiet and made her job a lot easier. Therefore, I knew that icing her was off limits.

"Bonnie thinks that she can psychically track our whereabouts in Klaus's nest through scrying and then notify me of his movements mentallly."

"Like a supernatural surveillance system?" Sam, I could tell, was impressed. "He'll never suspect it."

"And if she can't?" Leather Jacket gritted his teeth. Eyebrows confessed that the amount of energy it would take to carry her plan out was enough to fry the entire town of Mystic Falls. And leave her brain dead. Or just plain dead.

"No!/Screw that!" For once, Leather Jacket and I agreed on something. "There's got to be another way." There wasn't. According to Eyebrows, Rose's life wasn't the only one at stake during tomorrow's full moon.

"So if we kill the alph—I mean Klaus, then will it change the rest of the vampires back into human form?" Sammy spoke up.

"No. Not unless you can find a vampire stupid enough not to have fed yet." Vampire-Bella turned her head in my direction as if to say, _See, I know about your little problems. I just don't give a damn about them._ But Sammy wasn't listening to her anymore. He was more focused on his computer, trying to find a lead on how we could sneak up on Klaus, so that we could rip his heart out him and change me back. Everyone was talking at once: Sammy to himself, Rose arguing with Bobby, and Eyebrows trying to reason with Leather Jacket. It was then that I noticed, or rather heard, Green Eyes opening her mouth to speak. She'd been abnormally quiet the entire time that we'd been here, but now, she just looked resigned.

"This is the only way to protect both Rose and Dean," she said in a quiet voice that sounding like shouting to my new vampire hearing. Leather Jacket noticed my staring, and put a protective arm around her, smirking at me in order to let me know that looking was all I could do, because she was his now. In fact, I could almost hear his smug ass voice laughing at some tired cliché, "Take a picture. It lasts longer." Green Eyes; however, shrugged him off and walked into the center of the room.

"What do you mean?" Sam and Bobby questioned at the same time. She looked to Eyebrows, who gave her a sympathetic look along with small nod that was no doubt an answer to one of the many telepathic conversations that only they were privy to.

"If a vampire doesn't feed before the first full moon after his turn," she took a deep breath and looked straight at me, "he'll die. For good."

Leather Jacket no longer protested. Not that I was really surprised. As long as he got what he wanted, he was satisfied. But that didn't stop him from meeting me in the basement of Mitch's Motors, filling my senses with his signature stench of rot and liver sorosis when I slammed him against a far corner of the room.

"I see you've figured out the whole speed thing," his breathing barely hiked, unlike mine. He spun me around until I was the one facing the wall, arm twisted painfully behind my back, "But you'll never be fast enough to outsmart me. Or good enough." Now was not the time to comment on the fact that Green Eyes clearly thought I was good enough but I did it anyway. Somewhere above us, Eyebrows was trying to convince her that we were well past the point of stalling.

"Do you love him?" Her reluctance at answering the question was all the answer he needed, "He deserves to know the truth, Bonnie. There is a very good chance that this mission will kill us all, and if it does—"

"Then it won't matter whether he knows or not." She spat at him.

Down here, Leather Jacket and I couldn't tell which one of us they were talking about, but thought of it being the other made us hate each other even more. Leather Jacket twisted my arm harder, "I should have killed you back when I had the chance."

"But you settled on being Green Eyes' ball and chain instead!" He twisted my arm so hard I thought my bone would snap before he finally let me go. When I turned back around, determined not to let him see me rub the pain off of my arm, he was pacing the room, picking up empty spray cans and lining them one behind the other.

"She's a do-gooder. She likes saving people. It makes her feel needed. I on the other hand," he pushed the last can over so that it tipped the others in a domino effect that spilled red paint onto the concrete floor like blood, "prefer a messier, more forceful approach." To show me what he meant by forceful, he shoved a stake into my gut.

"Ah, you ice me, she'll spend the rest of her life hunting your sorry punk ass down, you rotting son of a bitch!" My voice was barely coming out above a croak. Not eating was making me more human. Weaker. Easier to kill. And Leather Jacket knew that.

His eyes rolled around the room in a heavily exaggerated way, "She'll get over it. Eventually." The crumpled up piece of paper that he threw at me was the literal version of throwing my words back into my face. It was the letter I'd given Green Eyes before I left. "And if that letter doesn't do the trick, I can always just give her a little mental boost," he leaned to whisper in my ear, "She's off the Vervain, you know?" He backed away. "But something tells me that she'll cooperate on her own." _Damnit!_ The blood bag was right. I hadn't given her one good reason to give a damn about me. The entire time, I'd been back, I'd been her version of Bela: an evil, hateful monster that only came around when I needed something. But I'd be damned if I pawned her off on Leather Jacket. Not again. Not if I had a chance to do right by her.

"There's no way I'm leaving her with a murdering dick bag like you." He bent down to trace a smiley face with Xs for eyes in the spilled red paint and read me her stats in the vein of a 90s personals ad.

"Her favorite movie is _Cruel Intentions_." He sounded almost sarcastic. "Says she likes the fact that good eventually wins over evil. Even if the hero has to die. She'll watch it over and over and over again, crying into a bowl of strawberry ice cream at at the same damn spot like it's the first time she's ever seen it, even though she's watched the entire movie over 200 times just to feel normal." Now he was more than sarcastic. He was pissed. "To convince herself that she's not the monster you made her out to be. But the worst of it is her ring tone, because with our little Bon Bon, everything has a meaning. And to her, the end of "Bleeding Love" represents escape. Redemption." This time, I didn't need him to make me feel shitter. Or to tell me who she'd most wanted escape from. Satisfied by my silence, he walked toward the door, turning around only to add, "Oh and by the way, you can keep that copy. I've got the original locked away at home."

By the time I got back to the others, Leather Jacket was sandwiching Green Eyes in his arms like he never even left. As soon as he went in for the kiss, I cleared my dry throat, making her turn toward me so that his lips grazed the side of her cheek instead. "We need to get a move on, Green Eyes. We only have a couple daylight hours left." The vein in Leather Jacket's forehead throbbed so hard I thought that it was going to start spewing shit like that possessed chick in _The Exorcist_.

"It's just a job, Damon." She held his face in her tiny hands. "It's just a means to an end." In one swift motion, he wrapped his lips around hers, marking what he thought was his territory in a way that he dared me to try, and seeing them go at it in the middle of the hallway, I almost wanted to take him up on that challenge. If at the very least to show him what the sound of her heart racing really sounded like. But that was the difference between him and me. He was willing to make screwing her a competition. I wasn't.

Whether it was the taste of self-proclaimed victory on his lips or the way his eyes laughed at me the entire time she kissed him that made her pull away, I don't know, but she hid her hurt well, walking to the backseat of my car without another word to either of us.

The nest sat tucked into the crook of a street that lacked all the regular signs of civilization most small towns prided themselves on. There were no happy-go-lucky civilians running around with prize-winning pies and lumpy clam chowder, getting all geeked up over the town fare's next Corn Husk Queen or whatever other shit they celebrated out here. Instead, all this part of town had to offer was a tall brick building that sat atop a cobblestone road. Hay poked out from a hole in the building's side, which was cut off from a yellow field by a thin slice of highway that led to only slightly bigger opportunities. If opportunity could really be found in a place with no visible power lines. For all intents and purposes, this place was no different than any of the other abandoned buildings and farmhouses that dotted this part of the country. It was quiet, void of traffic, and sported a huge ass "Condemned" sign that was supposed to warn anybody with a lick of common sense to stay the hell away. As was the street sign at the corner that read: Bloodstone Drive.

_Clever_, I chuckled at the irony. Something told me that that was the point. See, our alpha was selective about who he let take his blood oath. It was true that he could have done what most supernaturals did and conned his way into CEO positions so that he could drain secretaries in his office. But that was too easy. And Dracula here liked a chase. Which is why he hid out here in the middle of nowhere, waiting for kids and horror movie buffs who wanted a good scare, a good time, or both.

Sam looked up from the map in his hands and took in the scenery, stopping at the street sign. "Clever."

"It's a bit obvious though," Green Eyes bit her lip, "Anyone who sees this place is going to keep his distance." She shifted her weight to the middle of the backseat in order to hear Sam's response, trying her best not to look in my direction. Clearly her loyalty to Leather Jacket made being around me uncomfortable for her. _Well that was just too damn bad._

"Actually, it's a signaling device, sorta like the light at the top of a lighthouse. It keeps him from having to venture far from home." In the rearview mirror, Green Eyes scrunched her nose up in confusion. Even after three nights at the garage, she still wasn't used to Sam's pansy, _Encyclopedia Britanica _explanations that always required a follow up.

"He's all about keeping to himself," I explained to her, never once taking my eyes off the building, "so he only goes for certain types: bums, hobos, teenage runaways. Poor unsuspecting bastards that don't cause much trouble—"

"Because no one goes looking for them," she finished for me with a dark glare clouding her murky greens. She was out for Klaus's blood, so to speak, but wasn't willing to ruin our plans just to exact her revenge. She was a lot like Sam in that way. They both played down their rage, because it made them feel more human. But unfortunately, I didn't have that problem anymore. And even before the whole vampire thing, there wasn't much that could make me steer away from a vendetta. Not even the meaning of Sammy's parting as I ran into the building, "Klaus will smell him as soon as he steps foot inside. This is the most human he's been in a while."

-THEN-

"I told Mrs. Escatel about the things in the wall but she didn't believe me." I couldn't get the Jessica Sanchez's last statement out of my head. The kid had this whole wide-eyed innocence thing going for her, but looks were often deceiving. And her's, I couldn't help feeling, were lying through their damn teeth.

"Ok, so I found so research on this La Llorona character and guess what?" Sam was practically spitting info before I could even shrug my shoulders, "La Llorona is Spanish for 'The Weeping Woman.' Legend has it, she drowned her children in order to win her husband back, but it didn't work. So now she roams the earth looking for the children she killed."

"Kinda like a woman in white." It was more of a statement, but he took it as a question anyway.

"Yeah, but instead of cheating husbands, this one offs promiscuous teenagers." That explained the scratch-mark collar around the sister's neck. I could only imagine that the plans she'd lain out for the boyfriend must have sent this crying broad into a frenzy. Still, that didn't explain what had happened to the teacher and the…what had the little girl called them again?

"Duendes are a little harder to figure out." Sam fully turned to me this time, "The few English-speaking sites I found claimed that they hid in the walls of places where kids normally frequent like homes, daycares, and schools. What I don't get about this case, is how both girls had similar assault marks if…"

"They were attacked by two different legends," I finished for him. This was starting to sound like a trickster to me. They were notorious for using urban legends to their advantage. Sometimes they even went so far as to try and make an example of their victims, play some sick game out of using death as a lesson. I had a feeling that this was some new trickster's games. What I couldn't figure out, however, was what lesson we were supposed to get out of all this.

"None of this makes any sense, unless," he stopped to think, "the cases have a connection."

"So what was the teacher's deal?" My fingers stopped over the gun I'd just loaded with silver bullets. "Was she putting the moves on one of her students? Banging the principle in the teacher's lounge?" If this thing, whatever it was, was some holy-rolling spirit that attached itself to sexual deviancy then she had to have been doling out more than reading, writing, and arithmetic. Sam hit me with a disturbed look that practically screamed, _Dude, real life. Not porn_

"No, nothing like that, but, and you're really going to like the next part," I waited for the part that was supposed to reduce me to grins, "she worked nights at a place called _Sucia_." I had no idea what that meant. He waited for me to react, and clarified when I didn't, "Dean, it's a Spanish strip bar. The name means 'Dirty Girl,'" _Well, I'll be damned,_ the smile was slowly starting to stretch across my face. _Pre-school teacher by day, pole dancer by night. This case is getting better by the moment. _Until I remembered that all the parts on this teacher that I was interested in were on their way to becoming maggot food even as we spoke. That was no reason we couldn't still salvage a little bit of this night though. I grabbed my jacket, headed for the door, and to Sam's confusion, told him that we were going down to the club where the teacher used to work.

"Already checked the place out," he assured me with a proud grin, "and guess who works there?" He didn't even let me guess this time, "Pilar Sanchez's twenty-one year old boyfriend who, get this, used to babysit little Jessica for the Sanchezes until the parents came home and found a note claiming that he and the girl had gone to the bar to pick up his paycheck." I could only guess what the little girl thought when she saw her turtle neck wearing kindergarten teacher gyrating in next to nothing and spiraling down a shiny, silver pole. My thoughts flashed back to the Sanchez house. I hadn't realized it at the time, but those Spanish decorations that littered the house weren't your average cheap paper Mache lanterns. They were statues of Spanish saints, half of which I was willing to bet didn't exist or they would have protected the oldest daughter from nearly getting pre-date rapped in the first place. But nevertheless, the parents were religious, and where they'd failed to reach the first born they more than made up for in the second child. While most four-year-old girls were dreaming about princesses in towers, she was hearing bed time stories about crying cock-blocking broads and gremlins who lived in the walls. Kinda like Sam and me when we were her age. Or maybe, I was starting to believe, she was the exact opposite of Sam and me.

"The little girl!" Realization dawned on us a little late, but the facts were all there. To make a long story short, the baby demon was a witch whose powers had skipped both her parents and sister. Her thing was conjuring up the nightmares that ran through her imagination and using them to do the things that those legends were known to do: kill. Imaginary friends? Yeah, they weren't so imaginary to her, and neither was the problem that we faced, which lay in what to do now that we had found our target.

Sammy wanted to convince the girl that monsters weren't real. He believed that, despite what truth had always told us, if we could get her dreaming about Care Bears and rainbows instead of dungeons and dragons, then she wouldn't be a danger to anyone. But to me, this little girl was nothing more than a witch, which were at the top of my shit list. And kid or not, she was getting crossed off that list one way or another. No matter what type of soulless dick I had to turn into to make sure that that happened.

-NOW-

A second later, I tapped on the car's window, pretty sure that I'd just waken up an entire nest of hungry vampires who could sense my purpose for being there and weren't very happy about it. Sam put his hand on my shoulder to get me to calm down. Yet how could I? He didn't know it yet, but he was right. I was the most human I'd been in a while. A little too human, in fact.

"What? What did you see?" From the backseat, Green Eyes glued her face to the window, trying to shield the fact that she smelled like anxiety and guilt. Her normal scent these days. Only this time, it had nothing to do with Leather Jacket and everything to do with what she had done. To me.

"You!" I wheeled around to face her. "You put some kind of a witch roofie on me didn't you?" She kept her breathing steady, neither denying nor confirming my accusation. "What did you do it with, huh. Stray hair? Piece of dental floss? What?" Sam didn't follow what was going on.

"Dean, she was in here with me the whole time. She didn't put any kind of spell on you. Now what happ—"

"Your playing cards," she pulled a jack and an ace from her back pocket and held it up for me to see. They were the same ones from our Blackjack game the other night. Minus the corners. Now, it was Sam's turn to face her, which gave me the perfect excuse to back the car away and put as many miles between us and this depressing place as possible. He was calmer, asking her why she would take my powers away the day before we were set to take on the oldest vampire in history. "I didn't take his powers away completely, I only bound them." Then she had the nerve to raise her voice, no doubt just to get a reaction out of me. "I didn't want to risk him feeding before we could find a cure and/or doing something stupid like running unprepared into a building full of vampires."

No wonder Leather Jacket had gotten the upper hand back at the garage, I was as helpful as a newborn baby. My head pounded now, making it impossible to hear anything outside of the car. Or maybe that was part of Green Eyes' spell. Either way, I was barely fit enough to drive her back home, let alone hunt our alpha tomorrow. "Reverse it!" I choked out.

Her eyes met mine in the rearview mirror, eyebrow raised in a challenge, "No."

"This isn't a joke, Green Eyes. How the hell do you expect me to fight Klaus off with the strength of a friggin' two-year old?" I figured that she'd have an excuse. But nothing prepared me for the load of bull she came up with.

"Easy," she said to my reflection, "I don't. Because you won't be fighting anyone tomorrow night. You and I will be watching our plan play out from a steaming pot of water." Before I could get my half of the argument out she raised her hand for me to stop. "Look Dean, you're dying. And you may be okay with that, but I'm willing to bet that Sam isn't ready to let you go," she sat back in her seat and stared out the window again, finishing quietly, "and neither am I." Sam watched her with his mouth open, dimples showing a bit. Still, he knew when to keep his mouth shut. When to let "Rock Me Like a Hurricane" be the only reply to her statement.

Two hours later, we were back in front of Leather Jacket's place. "When you pick me up tomorrow night, wait for me around the corner. Can you manage that without doing something stupid, or do I have to find someone to babysit you?" She looked up at the house like she thought the vampire was going to come out and carry her over his shoulder any minute. Caveman style. He had her on a tighter leash than her dad used to have.

"I don't know. Don't you have your hands full with the bloodsucker?" I must have stunned her, because she stopped looking around and popped her head back into the car. Some girls would have lain into me with a bunch of shrill curses for me to burn in hell. Hey, it had happened plenty of times before from women who hadn't had half as much reason to hate me as much as Green Eyes did. But she wasn't one of those girls, and she wasn't the screaming type. Instead, she smirked at me, trailing the open window frame with her finger. Sam looked from me to her, waiting to see what her next move would be.

Her lips curled up on the sides in a smile that she had to bite her bottom lip to keep from forming, "Which one?" She backed away from the car smirking like she'd won something. If I hadn't known any better, I'd have sworn that Leather Jacket had learned how to smirk from her. She certainly had the expression down to a science, but I'd seen Eyebrows do it too, and I knew that it was obviously just a Mystic Falls thing. Nothing to get all worked up over just because some chick from my past was suddenly starting to show signs of a personality that used to drive me crazy.

But that still didn't stop me from trying to come up with some lame ass attempt to have the last word, "Well give the girl a prize, she can actually think on her own."

Now that she was gone, Sam chuckled quietly. The ride up here, he didn't say much, just let Green Eyes and me fight the whole time like we were some damn dysfunctional couple in family counseling and he was the quiet shrink, but I could tell that he'd gotten a kick out of her. Now, apparently, he'd found his voice, because the next thing I knew, he was turning to me, grinning like a big kid.

"What?" I gripped the steering wheel tighter.

"Dude," he was all dimples and teeth, "I never thought I'd see the day when you'd finally meet you match." My foot hit the gas with a quickness, like it too couldn't wait to get the hell off both this street and this conversation.

"Shut up, Sam!"


	17. CLOSER

**A/N: **Ok, so I know that I by updating I didn't really give anyone a chance to review chapter 16, but you guys don't mind an extra chapter before the weekend do you? Besides, I just couldn't resist posting since I've been holding onto this chappy forever. Thank you to **TheSouthernScribe** for reviewing the last chapter. The link wouldn't let me sent you a reply but I wanted to let you know that I've thought long and hard about how I'm going to end this and it's coming shortly. I figured this story to be a good 25 chapters but they'll be coming really closely behind each other. Now, before I get on with thing I have two things to say: 1) This story takes place in Decemeber (since that's when I first started writing this), and 2) I said during chapter two that there will be two chapters that speak from the author's POV. This is the other one. And actually, there will be anothe at the end. So I hope that you all enjoy and have a great weekend. **READ AND REVIEW**

**Disclaimer:** The title song is "Closer" by the Kings of Leon, because the feeling of the song inspired me to get into the mood the the upcoming battle that they all face with Klaus. Now, let's get on with it, shall we?

CLOSER

Author's POV

The decade following the Salvatore brothers' epic turn, Damon spent his time following his brother in secret, waiting for the right moment to strike. Sometimes, their travels took them to far off places in the Alps or Iceland, but mostly the brothers would inhabit cities on the mainland of the United States such as Chicago, Denver, and New York. Stefan loved cold weather. It gave him a reason to mope. A reason to find emptiness in the vast white blizzards. But Damon was never a fan of winter. It always reminded him of how far he'd come; how different he was now. He would look down at all of the snow and instantly grow angrier—well angrier than usual that is—because anger was the only thing that he could feel, and luckily for him, that fact generally made him livid. But on rare occasions, Damon would grow tired of being so angry and succumb to putting on airs. The elder vampire would drink warm cupfuls of ski instructor or whatever that week's victim had been in front of a raging hearth and pretend to feel a difference between the liquid's heat and winter's chill. When drawing in his prey out in public, he would even go so far as to force his teeth to chatter and his body to shiver. It was always an act, but it was one that made him feel more normal. Made him feel, dare I say it, alive.

Now, the witch made him feel that way as well, and yes, it was all so very typical that even he found himself rolling his eyes at the cliché. They had chemistry that no one—not even themselves—could deny. Whether it was sexual, predatory, or just evolutionary he didn't know, and honestly he didn't really give a damn about the reason for his feelings, because just having them in the first place made his skin itch. It made him angry, but for a whole different reason.

Suddenly, it was as if the Earth had shifted. Better yet, it was as if his victims' words had come true, "You're going to get what's coming to you one day, Damon. One day, you're going to meet your match, and she'll rip your heart out!" _Been there, done that, _he'd thought. Only now, he wasn't so sure that he had been through that with Katherine at all. Now, she seemed like an appetizer to him. A wicked opening act preparing him for a much worse headliner. In a show to which he had front row seats.

Damon stared out of the snow covered window pane trying his best to keep his eyes on the falling water crystals instead of throwing his tumbler of blood at the door that Bonnie had just exited like a post-pubescent cheerleader desperately in love with the town's bad boy. He tried hard to remember what it had felt like to be that bad boy: breaking hearts and licking up their bloody spill. Instead, all he could remember was how happy she had been to rush over to the Shelia's house to set up for tonight's plan. "Alone," she'd promised him. _Lying bitch! _His mind screamed, even though he was struggling not to repeat that voice.

Bonnie may have been a mystery in many ways, but her motives, luckily for him—or unluckily depending upon how one perceived the situation—were not. She smelled like the hunter, and it was all Damon could do not to vomit right there on the spot, because Bonnie used to smell like berries, incense, and in the past seven years, like his leather jackets, courtesy of Armani. Ever since those hunters came back into town, Damon could smell himself slowly fading from both her body and her mind, only to be replaced with that ever-familiar stench of gunpowder, whiskey, and the hunter himself! And, as if adding injury to insult, the hunter smelled of witch as well. Damon's witch! He squeezed the glass in his hands until it broke then used the shards to smash the window. Frosty air infiltrated the expansive lobby, blowing Damon's hair around his equally icy face in the large, lonely manor while his witch was more than likely screwing the hunter behind his back. And this time, Damon didn't have to pretend to shudder. Because for once, he actually felt the chill.


	18. DIE HARD THE HUNTER

**A/N: **A major thank you to **mrs. mathis **whose last review cracked me up. You bet he felt the chill! And thank you so so much for wishing that the show would go that way. That meant so freaking much. Also thanks to **TheSouthernScribe**, whom was right about how real things are getting. And they get even more intense in this chapter. Oh, and I am still very interested in _Rules of the Chase_, in fact, I'm headed off to read that after this post. Now, I realize that this fic has lost a lot of its reviewers because of how long its taken me to finish, but I want to thank all of my readers (even the ones who don't have time or accounts to review).

**Disclaimer:** The song title is by Def Leppard, because I think that it's so Dean. Especially with this chapter being the full moon chapter and all (aka. his final night). Listen to the lyrics and tell me you don't agree. Now, let's get on with it shall we?

DIE HARD THE HUNTER

Dean's POV

"You're late," Green Eyes tapped her foot on the frost covered pavement. "Stefan's already left for Fairfax, and Damon will be leaving at any minute." Her tapping became more impatient now that I was here. When I'd first pulled up to the street corner, she was already there, hair drying into a million frizzy curls that glowed underneath a streetlight as if it were a halo and she were some soft porn version of a fallen angel in tight blue jeans and a thin cotton shirt that showed off a rack that would have been better appreciated by a demon. Or by me, if I wasn't still pissed at her for working her magic on me. But at least she wasn't wearing that damn leather jacket anymore. Her arms shivered around a spell book and the three blood red candles that she hugged to her chest. _Blood red candles, _I chuckled to myself while trying to offer up an excuse that didn't sound like I was bitching. Or worse: that I was desperate. _Just what I need. Another goddamn reminder that my time is running out._

"Sam and Bobby needed an extra set of hands to load the car," I confessed. It was the truth, but only in the most technical sense I could cough up. To be honest, there was no real reason for me not to tell her how close I'd come to begging Bobby like a friggin' schoolgirl to let me in on this hunt. She already knew how much it killed me to stay behind, holed up with her in my baby's front seat like we were two ghosts who'd been given the shitty job of haunting each other on the highway. In fact, I wouldn't have been surprised if she could see my fingers itching to turn back around and take care of this Klaus business myself. She still knew the way I thought without me having to say a word, which was the only thing that hadn't changed with us.

For someone who was in such a hurry to leave, she made no move to get in the car. Her gaze flickered between me and the door handle like she was waiting for me to get out and open the door for her, because doing so was some kind of long-lived southern tradition. And if I was going to be in Mystic Falls, why should I be any different? The whole scenario of leaning over and opening the door for a woman wearing a shirt that was damn near see-through as if we were two high school kids sneaking out after dark was a stretch for me. The closest I'd ever come to being a gentleman before Green Eyes was…well to be honest, I couldn't even remember the last time I'd been around a woman long enough to care. Or try. But I was trying now, and she still didn't seem satisfied with the attempt.

"What are you waiting for? An invitation?" I looked through the window at her. Her breathing was staggered and nervous, "I'm not going to bite you, if that's what you're thinking. You made sure to handle that on your own, remember?"

The reminder didn't seem to calm her down any, but she finally tossed her crap on the floor and slid onto the black interior. Before she closed the door, I could have sworn I'd heard her take a large gulp and whisper, "It's not you I'm worried about." I had no idea what that dig was supposed to mean, but I had my suspicions that it had to do with Leather jacket, and there were two things I knew for sure: One, I had finally had it up to here with her shielding his damn feelings all the time. And two, if we were going to ride around together, I was going to have to flip the switch on my humanity.

Only I couldn't let it go, "'Cause I'm just a job right? A means to an end just like I was seven years ago. Isn't that how you put it to Leather Jacket?"

Her voice was loud in the small, quiet space, "What was I supposed to do, Dean? Stand there and let you taunt him until he snapped your neck?" I shrugged my shoulders, refusing to speak again and sound like a cranky broad with PMS. She looked down at her hands, folding and unfolding them. "Believe it or not, I was trying to protect you, both then and now."

_Classic!_ I couldn't believe this shit. She was sitting here, trying to turn this back around to me. _Protecting me, my ass! _Even more, though, I couldn't believe how close I'd come to falling for it. Again. "Nah, you're not guarding anything but yourself. You'll do anything to keep the devil happy, because it makes you feel better about selling yourself out to him. Tell me something, Green Eyes. What's daddy got to say about all this?" Now she just looked pissed. The windows rattled dangerously. The wheel spun out of control for a second.

"First of all, my father died four years ago, because I was too busy grieving over you to notice the warning signs of his heart attack. Secondly, that's a highly judgmental statement for someone who went without a soul himself for the last four years," seeing my flinch gave her the guts to continue, "Now, let's get one thing straight, Dean Winchester, Damon was there for me when you were too much of a damn coward to leave me with anything more than an angry letter. So excuse me if that's not exactly my idea of the devil!"

"Oh yeah?" The wheel grew hot underneath my hands. I had to fight to keep the fangs in check, forgetting for a second that Green Eyes had made me supernaturally limp. "Then what do you call someone who gets his kicks by stuffing teenaged chicks in caves?" She turned back to the window, probably thinking up ways to flatten my tires or give me another aneurism without causing us to crash. Still, she couldn't deny that she'd once thought the same thing anymore than I could turn my back on the fact that the same rules didn't apply between them anymore.

If I were being completely honest here, I'd have to admit that Leather Jacket had more balls than I'd originally given him credit for. In public, he and Green Eyes talked to each other as if the other made their skin crawl, but the way he'd stuck up for her to me at the garage told me that there was more to his boy scout act than just being hot for teacher. And not that any of it mattered to me one way or the other, but even a blind man could see that he was protective to the point of controlling. I couldn't even blame him, either. Believe me, I knew from experience that Green Eyes just brought that out of a guy. But knowing how much he cared about her didn't make her banging a vampire any easier for me to swallow. Because if you ask me, those cocky sons of bitches were all the same: overly-emotional, arrogant, and, in most cases, just plain bat-shit crazy. And being one now didn't change my hatred for them one bit. If anything it only solidified it. "Look, all I'm saying is that you deserve better."

Her tired sigh shook a little of her smoky hair toward me. "And what about what you deserve?" I stared harder at the road to keep from acknowledging the way it curled on my arm. "You've been driving yourself insane, chasing a cure that may or may not even exist, not so that you can save your own life, but so that you can get back to saving others'..." the rest of her sentence died somewhere between Blue Oyster Cult's "Don't Fear the Reaper" and Asia's "Through My Veins." The soundtrack of my afterlife.

I shut the stereo off and gritted my teeth, "What's your point?"

Green Eyes distracted herself by switching through songs on Sammy's iPod; she didn't speak up again until she found a song that satisfied her taste and connected the dock to the stereo. The speakers blared with the sound of some slow shit that reminded me so much of her I'd instantly regretted letting it play out the first day Sam and I met back up seven years ago. Now I was stuck listening to whiny boy bands while he was off risking his neck for my cause. I could tell that she remembered that night too by the way her frown softened. "My point is that if you, Bobby, and Sam die tonight, the world will still be in just as much danger without you as it is with you in it. You can't save everyone."

"Yeah well, until the hounds drag me back to Hell, it's on me to keep people like you from dying bloody. And I don't know about you, but I'm gonna keep doing my job." Before I had even finished the sentence, Green Eyes's hand shot out and grabbed my own to keep me from switching the radio back on like she was physically trying to drag my attention back to her, and I should have just yanked it away. Kept her guilt from stinking up my car. But the concern that filtered in from underneath that guilt kept me from doing so.

She leaned closer in her seat, green eyes hitting me in full force, "That's not a job, Dean. That's an obsession. And you deserve better than obsessions." Out the corner of my eye, I felt her staring at me, giving me that look she used to give whenever she knew that we'd both be better off if she told me to get lost but couldn't, because she really wanted to keep me around just a little longer. A visual version of the collar-pulling motion that I'd sworn she'd learned from Cassie. Then, noticing our closeness, she gave my hand a final squeeze, turned the stereo back to Mystic Fall's only classic rock station, and pointed for me to turn left. Straight to Grandma's house.

Electric guitars and warnings of death by self-destruction eventually gave way to dead silence and Green Eyes' breathing. She was dreading bringing the big bad wolf to Grandma's house even more than I was dreading going, for reasons that I couldn't relate to. This place. This street with its white picket fences that held off vegetable gardens and cheap-looking lawn gnomes from guys who didn't belong—guys like me—behind their freshly painted posts, was, or at least it used to be, home for her. Watching her tug at her hair, as if pulling the strands could somehow uproot her from this place made me realize just how different the concept of home really was for her and me.

For me, finding a home wasn't exactly at the top of my list of priorities these days, especially not one that hadn't been burned to the ground or left coughing up exhaust as it grew smaller and further away in my rearview mirror. _But who needed a home, _I'd always thought, _when there were always an abundance of perfectly good, sleazy motels nearby that readily offered four walls, two beds, and a selection of greasy, health-code violating diners?_

As it turns out, Green Eyes did. She needed a place that she could rest her head where Death couldn't find her. She wanted a home where she couldn't still smell the final breaths of loved ones found lying cold and dead beneath their sheets. And Grandma's house wasn't that place.

Needless to say, she wouldn't have made it one day as a hunter. Oh, she had the attitude for it. The shank 'em and gank 'em spirit that made her a fighter. But she couldn't put the memorials aside. Being on the road left very little room for nostalgia. We didn't bother with burial plots and headstones as long as salt and matches were readily on hand. At the very least, we'd pour a few drops of whisky in front of a former friend and fellow hunter's charred ashes as a sign of respect meant to soften the blow after they landed fireside before we took off again. Never to return. Because faith or no faith, you didn't desecrate a liquored up grave site by visiting it twice. But that's exactly what Green Eyes was doing here. Because this was her whiskey drop. And who knew how many times she'd tortured herself by going back.

"So remind me again," I dragged her back down from whatever nightmare that she was reliving, "why we couldn't just do this from the garage." I could tell that she didn't want to unload this voodoo shit on me, and honestly, neither did I. But it was either that, or let her stew in her juices for the rest of the ride. "You hear me Green Eyes?"

She sighed, "What I'm going to do, the multiple scrying, the possible projection of my image into the nest as a distraction for Klaus will take an exorbitant amount of power that I've never conjured before. If I want to survive the attempt, I'll need to go back to Grams' house and channel both hers and Emily's powers." I nodded my head like I really knew what she was talking about when, in reality, there was only one thing on my mind. Sensing the question before I'd even gotten it out, she rolled her eyes. "No, he's never been here. Grams was always very leery of vampires, so I've tried to respect her wishes by keeping her home a fang-free zone."

I'd never known this Grams broad but hearing about her hate for vampires almost made me wish I had. Witch or not. She sounded a lot like the Green Eyes I'd met seven years ago. And there was just something about a woman after the same goal that I was that I just couldn't resist. Even if that goal meant that I'd be sleeping in my car tonight. "A witch with a conscious," I chuckled, "I'm impressed." I genuinely was too, until she rolled those bright eyes of hers and laughed at whatever smart ass remark she had hiding up her sleeve.

"A vampire with a soul," she finally settled her sarcastic smirk my way, "I'm shocked!"

Outside, it started to rain, not hard enough for a storm, but enough to fog up the windows. Green Eyes turned to write her name on the frosted glass, and then used her sleeve to erase it. I knew that even when the window dried, the outline of her name would still be there. "So why do you stay with him if dear old granny was so hell-bent against vampires?"

Thunder cracked loudly around us, making her jump slightly while the lightning highlighted the stillness of her body against the stray curl that fell into her eyes. Without thinking, I reached over and tucked it behind her ear; that took all the laughter out of the situation. She tugged on the end I'd just moved. "We have an arrangement. I protect him from the flames," she shrugged, "he keeps my head above the water." This wasn't the first time she'd made a comment that involved drowning. The first night we'd seen each other again, she'd made a similar comment: _Green Eyes drowned a long time ago, so if you don't like the girl Damon pulled up from the water, you only have yourself to blame. _The words faded into pictures of Leather Jacket running from her dad's house with her draped in his arms,soaked from head to toe and barely breathing.

A sick feeling crawled its way from my gut to my chest where it sat heavy on my lungs. But it was nothing compared to the regret I felt every time I glanced sideways at the woman beside me. Because it had finally hit me. She hadn't changed because Leather Jacket had broken her. She'd changed because I had. "Was it the lett—"

"It was a long time ago," There was more to that story, but chances were that she was keeping me at an arm's length on purpose, determined not to let me cut her any deeper than I already had. Yet, the look in her eyes was something that I had never seen on her before: defeat. What I had done to her still stung, and I had a feeling that me making her remember it had finally run her away for good. If we lived through the night, there would be no more confrontations outside of her house followed by silent car rides filled with so much tension that I could barely see the road ahead. No, the road was clear now, and Green Eyes was nowhere in sight. She didn't even try to fight the tears that fell down her face. She just let them fall and pointed to a big white house on the corner of the street. "You can park in front of the willow tree." Her hand was already on the door handle before the car even stopped. Point taken.

During the short walk to her grandmother's porch, sleet started to come at us from all sides, plastering her white shirt to her skin until it was barely visible. Even under the circumstances, it was hard not to appreciate the sight of it clinging to her skin. She stopped at the door, noticing how my eyes slid from her ass to her neck. And everywhere in between. A tiny chuckle edged its way through her chattering teeth as she put on the jacket I'd taken off and thrown her way. She opened the door.

"Well…uh…I guess this is my stop." I didn't even care that I sounded like a seventh grader dropping his date off after his first dance. All I knew was that if Leather Jacket had never even gotten an invite, the only green light that I would be seeing tonight would be through my windshield. "Just come tap on the window when you hear something."

Green Eyes was already inside the doorway, just barely over the threshold, zipping my jacket up over her ice soaked frame. She gave my now equally wet T-shirt the same eye treatment that I'd given hers, blushed, and then moved aside. "It's really coming down out there." I nodded my head even though we both knew that I couldn't feel the difference. "My grandfather was a drifter," she continued, "He left before my dad was born, but Grams still kept some of his clothes in the attic."

The vampire in me geared up for what he hoped that she was hinting toward while the part of me that hated myself for ruining her life—undoubtedly my last shred of humanity—couldn't believe what it was hearing. I narrowed my eyes, boots involuntarily inching as close to her as they could get; I rested both arms on the door frame beside her, "What exactly are you getting at here, Green Eyes?"

This time, she took a deep breath before meeting my eyes again. And said nine words that made me realize just how strong she really was, "Would you like to come inside and dry off?"


	19. BLOODSTREAM

**A/N: **This story took a long long long time to write. There was so much that I needed to get out with this one, because it ends quite a few chapters in the lives of our Winchesters and Mystic Fallers. I want to thank **TheSouthernScribe **for reviewing. Yes Dean finally realized that he broke our Bonnie, but don't be too hard on him. She broke him a bit too. We find out how in this chapter (ie. the rest of the St. Augustine story). **RubyLily7**, your review was so honest. I truly appreciate it. I hope that this chapter continues to lie in your good favor. Lastly, **mrs mathis**. I am so flattered by your review. But honestly, my fiction is in no way comparable to the quality of either show. I am merely a fan who loves to write. But thank you just the same.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing, but highly suggest that you all listen to the song "Bloodstream" by Stateless. I been in love with that song ever since TVD's first season finale. Now let's get on with it, shall we?

BLOODSTREAM

Bonnie's POV

Hair of the crow. Tendrils of fog. Tears of a widower. And sweat of a fire-bathed warrior. These four items burned brightly within the thick red wax of my clarity candles, each one linking me to its owner by splitting the steaming water in front of me into three adjacent screens. Yet, even with the sweet scents of apricot, mimosa petals, and jasmine emanating from the candles' smoke, nothing could take my focus away from the man in front of me, who sliced his hand and dripped into the wax our last anchor to Klaus: his blood.

"You sure you know what you're doing?" Fire danced off of his features, emphasizing the worry lines that creased his eyes as he asked the question. He looked vulnerable for once. Yet also less pale. And it was just like Fate to make him look his most alive in his time of dying, because she knew that doing so made it that much harder for me to lie to him. Still, if a handsome vampire with a spine-tingling voice was all it took to render me truthful, then maybe I would have thought more carefully about answering Damon's: ***just checking to see if your heart is still in this***

with a text more honest than:

***the only one who'll be losing a heart tonight will be Klaus***

"I won't rest until Klaus is dead," I spoke into the water. With the last anchor set in place, he scooted back against a far wall, leaving me to watch from the couch as tendrils of smoke turned from red to blue, and finally black.

Two hours later, we were still cemented to those same spots. Not an inch between us had grown any closer to zero, and if anything, his down-trodden stare in a face held up by two weary hands were further proof that the definition of separation was no longer just confined to the distance between us. It was the distance between the last time we'd heard any new news from Fairfax. The distance between sickness and health. The distance between the moon and the horizon, which signified a changing back for many werewolves and a passing of time for everyone else. We only had until 12:00am to find and kill Klaus before all vampires who hadn't fully transitioned met their ends; it was quickly approaching 10:30. And still, we waited like perfect little pawns in a chess game that we might have already lost.

Grams had a remedy for these types of situations, though. When anything she could've done had already been tried to its death, and all the spells in the world couldn't bring hope back to a situation, that remedy rested behind the Drifter cabinet in her kitchen—named after a man that she could only bring herself to call by the same name—inside a bottle of aging brandy.

Dean cleared a space for me on the floor beside him amongst the bloody tissues that curled underneath the weight of his boots. He passed the half empty bottle between his lips, took a long swig, and winced at the burn in his throat. The liquor dated back to the 1970s and tasted every bit of its age.

"So I'm guessing that this Grams was a lightweight when it came to the sauce, huh?" He tilted the bottle from side to side to show how little had been consumed during the last forty years.

I grabbed the bottle from him, taking an equally thirsty swallow. "Grams only believed in alcohol in moderation. She didn't like that zombie, hangover feeling." He flinched as soon as I'd said the words, and it wasn't due to the sting of fermentation. These days, every morning put him in the constant position of waking up dead after long nights of being haunted by ghosts that were both real and imagined. One of which taunted him from a frilly white canopy bed in the back of his mind as we spoke.

After a moment of silence, I turned to him. "It's okay to talk about her, you know?" The little girl from St. Augustine, I mean. What happened to her?"

At first, my only reply was a blood-filled cough followed by the movement of his arm wiping across his mouth. Then came his gruff "If I've only got an hour left, I'd rather skip the part where this turns into a Kodak moment," when our shoulders touched.

The jack and the ace burned a hole in the palm of my hand as I turned it face up, calling his bluff, "I thought you were a risk taker?" If he were stronger, he would have gathered his wet clothes and weathered this storm from the front seat of his car. But as things were, he was weak, coughing up blood, and was only an hour and a half away from going back to Hell. What more did he have to lose?

_You_, Stefan's voice was clear in my head, even from Fairfax due to our blood sharing yesterday. _He's afraid of losing you._

Then Stefan's voice disappeared inside of a quieter one whose truth stunned us both, and from it poured the story of a young witch named Jessica Sanchez whose only fault was talking to the wrong man for a second too long. "The first minute you hand over the keys to your soul, you've already lost control. It's like you're still in there," he knocked on his head for emphasis, "but not really. Because you're too damn obsessed with the hunt to realize how screwed up you are." He was bordering on vague and broken, reciting someone else's words from memory.

"What does this have to do with the little girl?" I prodded.

"Sam I couldn't agree on what to do with her. She was just a kid, ya know? He wanted to keep her believing in fairytales." The bottle of brandy sat between us, giving us both a focal point.

"And you?" I risked a look into his eyes, immediately wishing that I hadn't.

"I was out of it. Couldn't see anything but a witch that couldn't be trusted. Couldn't see anything more than another kill." A pang rippled across my chest at his words. _A witch that couldn't be trusted._ Jessica was a witch like me. I pleaded for him to tell me that Sam had gotten to him before he did something that he'd regret, but one look on his face told me that that's exactly what this story had been: a tale of regret. "She never even saw it coming. We were back on the road before the cops came." He had killed her with his bare hands.

The horror of what he'd done filled up in his eyes until it rolled down and dampened his cheeks. Silent words built a wall between the things that he wanted to say and those which he couldn't. Then he stops talking altogether, because suddenly this had all become too real for him, and he can't help but admit that, this time, his damnation was justified. Stubborn tears cling to his eyelashes, refusing to fall like the ones before, but he doesn't appear to notice or care. I watch him shred an unused tissue in his hands, trying hard not to feel as though he's ripping my heart up in the process. I think to myself that this would be easier to believe if I couldn't feel the remorse rolling off his skin, but I do. In crippling abundance.

It was only fitting that he expected for me to run away after his cruel admission, not entwine our fingers and hold on for dear life like I ended up doing. The illusion of heat swelled between us. "You weren't yourself back then. But I promise you that we'll get through this," I lied, knowing full well that neither of us believed it. But truthfully, at that moment, I was willing to say and do anything—bargains and soul selling included—to make his suffering better; anything except for what he asked for next: my forgiveness.

"Listen…Green Eyes," I knew where this was headed, "when I wrote you that…what I'm trying to say is…I shot off at the mouth without thinking, and I'm—" before I could leave him to his guilt, his fingers snaked around my arm. "Listen, I'm trying to apologize here."

I didn't want his apology, not if he meant for it to be his last words. "I can't do this. I'm with Damon. Plus, we need to focus on Klaus right now." Hazel green eyes narrowed in my direction, carrying traces of the man I used to know. He propped his boot up on the floor and crossed his arms like the hell-raising rebels from the old records he loved so much. A real life Rolling Stone that painted the town black and occasionally demanded shelter.

Right now; however, he all he demanded was an answer. "Is that _all_ you got to say? I basically just admitted that I was a dick and a coward who was wrong for screwing you over, and you bring his sorry vein hopping ass into this?"

That's when I exploded. "Where will you be after all of this, Dean?" He stared after me surprised. "When Klaus is dead, and you get your life back, where will you be?" He rattled on about how another day meant another hunt and that evil never took a holiday, but I held him off, "Exactly! When this is all over, you'll be back on the road, and if I thought that there were anything I could say that would make you stay, then…" there was no use in finishing that sentence. I knew from experience that after he was free, his interest in me would evaporate just as quickly as the shackles that had once bound us. "But there isn't so…let's just focus on this, okay?" Stefan's voice was coming through again, telling me that it was time. This was the moment we'd all been waiting for. Still, I delayed it for one last afterthought, and made him promise me that if we all made it to morning, he'd get in his car. And never look back. "No matter what happens here tonight."

A large bang from the hallway silenced all debate. The clock had struck eleven. I hurried back to the steaming water that spilled black smoke into the entire living room. Beneath the water, the nest rippled murkily with werewolves growling nastily behind cages and hungry vampires looking to kill four of the most dangerous intruders that they had ever seen. Klaus, on the other hand, was nowhere to be found. He let his fledglings do his bidding.

The Salvatores went to work shooting wooden stakes at newborns while Sam and Bobby struggled to free the werewolves. Beside me, the new Android phone that Damon had purchased to replace my other one chirped gloomily. I didn't dare take my eyes off the scene before me knowing that I could barely even work the thing on normal occasions. _Damon wants to know why you're not answering. We need to know where Klaus is, _Stefan thought.

_Tell him that I can only do one thing at a time._

Back in the water Klaus lurked behind a corner and watched the two hunters free his werewolves with laughter contorting his cruel face. Soon enough, I knew that laughter would dry up beside a bloody pile of Sam and Bobby's lifeless bodies. My lips hurriedly spoke the incantation that would project my form to the nest. I just needed to distract Klaus long enough for the werewolves to be freed and the hunters to get away. The spirit part of me flickered in front of the vengeful original, teasing him with the blood flowing from my nose, when the first sign of disaster struck back home.

Dean lay clutching his sides on Grams hardwood floor that was now soaked in a riverful of blood. His face paled underneath my hands as he tried to speak, "Keep…going." He wanted me to finish scrying, help our families win this fight. Yet I could barely hear him through the blood rushing in my ears. Just a moment ago, I had felt faint, was losing blood myself. Now, I was running off of adrenaline, pulling both him and me up to the island in Grams' kitchen. The phone chirped. Stefan screamed directions in my head. The dying vampire in my arms threw up another stream of blood that shook all the way through him. And still I held him in my arms, too afraid of what would happen if I let go.

Tremors ran from his body to mine, signifying all five steps of a transformation that he'd rather die than complete. The stage where he either took a life or gave his own, and the people who knew him best had probably dug his grave days ago, awaiting the day that he begged them to put him out of his misery. But none of them were here to see the fear that passed through his eyes, so out of place amongst the confident spark I was used to seeing in them. He wilted further into my arms, terrified not of the unknown, but rather of a place that he knew all too well. Soon I too could see him hiding inside shadows waiting for evil to find him there. Waiting for it to burn through his humanity until there was nothing left of it, except demonic rage.

Waves of sulfuric acid washed over my senses, almost prying him from my grasp, welcoming him back, because it was only a matter of minutes before the light in his eyes went out altogether. I couldn't look at him, knowing that this was truly it: how we were chosen to end. I was losing him all over again, only this time was worse, because my last memory of him, which used to live inside an angry letter, trapped between two rickety floor boards, would now forever belong to this moment.

Unless…

Unless I did the one thing that was sure to keep his life intact. And make him hate me for the rest of it.

Just thinking about it made my pulse race, not with fear, but with a type of excitement that came from finally gaining control over a situation. The pages of the grimoire turned wildly as my hand reached the ends of his hair and forced his head down into the crook of my neck. I didn't see what page it landed on, but I knew that if it was Grams'—or Emily's—way of dissuading me from doing what I was about to do, then they were wasting their time. I was listening to the fiery woman in the sky, and she begged for me to save him. "Bite me," I whispered into his hair while simultaneously gripping the knife inside his back pocket.

The look he shot me before using his last bit of strength to throw himself across the room could only be described as one of painful amusement. "You really need to watch who you say that to," he grimaced as if the mere act of talking threatened to tear him apart, "with all the vampires you hang around," he turned to cough up another pint of blood, "Some…one…might take it the wrong way." The hounds nipping at his feet, licked their invisible tongues at his blood and watched me slice a clean, thin line into my arm with his blade. Only now did the barking stop. They stopped circling him as well, finding more interest in stalking me, waiting for my first drop of blood to fall. They were sharks in the water. I trailed my finger along the fresh scar, holding my bloody fingers out to him afterwards. "Don't," he mouthed.

"You have to," my hands were already tugging him back to me where he hungrily watched the scar fill up and drip, hypnotized and transfixed. He grabbed my arm to his mouth, looking into my eyes for one last time. "It's okay. I trust you." I had always forbid myself from saying this to Damon. It sounded like something a fool in love would say, something that Elena had probably said to Stefan on numerous occasions. But as I braced myself for the excruciating pinch of his teeth, I had to ask myself: _Was I really all that different from either of those things?_

The pain never came, however. Instead, he preferred to suck and slurp at the blood, rather than drill my bones with his fangs. Anything to make him feel like less of a demon, because it was the worst torture imaginable to be stripped of what you were, but it was pure hell to be permanently turned into that which you hated.

The lights grew dimmer even as the floor below me swam. I was getting weaker as the man in front of me sucked me dry. The elder Winchester no longer needed to hold onto my hips for stability. He was growing stronger off of my blood. He was taking too much of it. I tried to fight him off, curled my fists against his chest and pounded because my life depended on it, but felt that something else had beat me to it: a heartbeat. There came a time when the warmth of his skin was no longer just a figment of my imagination, some deep seeded memory manifesting itself into reality, because I knew that his lips should burn. When deep breaths and a rising chest grew rapid in a man who stepped back and marveled at the color that had returned to his hands. And when the tasks of getting me water and celebrating his newfound life landed us spinning around the room with me happily in his arms, our lips met in the middle.

"What just happened?" He breathed down at me.

"They must have killed Klaus, and with" I looked at the clock on the 70s style stove: 11:59, "a minute to spare." He held me to him again, never once bringing up the obvious elephant in the room that watched us laugh and touch without a care in the world. At least, not until that elephant sent me a text.

_We've got him, _Stefan's voice sounded exhausted.

***no thanks 2 u, Judgie. Wtf happened 2 u?***

I hit a button, any button that I thought would stop the Android's accusing stare. In my present state of duress I could have sworn I'd seen his green head shake in disapproval, and I didn't need any more undeserved guilt.

Dean was already placing me onto the counter top before I could even rethink replying to Damon's text. "I should go meet up with Sammy," he said.

"You should," our faces were inches from each other. Here we were, making awkward small talk about meeting our brothers and texting reluctant lovers, yet all the while, his hands never left my hips; my eyes never left his lips. And soon we chose the silence of bodies rubbing. Of tongues touching.

Caroline, being the southern belle that she is, has always believed that the power of a kiss can tell you everything that you need to know about how your relationship will be. And when she, Elena, and I had each received our firsts at the ages of thirteen and fourteen, she grew more confident than ever in her self-proclaimed "superpower." She was so confident, in fact, that one would almost swear she were the one with a magically-inclined grandmother, what with all her talk of visions of the future and fire tingling beneath the fingers. But not Caroline. To her, the power of a kiss was nothing more than science. Pure science. As time went on, she began to extend her craft, not only to kisses, but also to the shape of a man's lips as a general indicator of how his kisses will be.

"Damon's were dangerous," she'd informed me one day in the girls' bathroom of our old high school. "Even before he laid them on me I knew, just _knew_, that they'd try to suck me dry." At the time, I had to chuckle, because really, that's all one can do when she's forced to spend time with her friend's ex because you're both too broken up about The Ones That Got Away. Then, she drove the idea home, "That hottie ex of yours, though? Now he looks like a supreme kisser!" She said she saw the intensity of his touch through the strength of his gaze. "I bet he meant every single kiss. Well, with you anyway." That statement had once received an eye roll, because it was unsolicited. Now, it received one because I realize she'd gotten it mixed up. Damon wasn't the one with the dangerous kisses. Dean was.

I could feel him floating inside me, only not in the obvious places that craved his attention the most. I tasted him on my tongue, tasted the strong brandy on lips that I tried to swallow whole, even as he fought to soften our kiss so as not to get lost inside me for good. I realized only then that what I'd felt for him all these years hadn't been fear or even hurt. It had been challenge. I had dared him to come back, gave him every reason in the world to settle the score. And now that he had, I wanted to do sinful, unforgivable things that he would never let survive unpunished.

"The bed…the…the couch," I stammered through lips that clung to his as sternly as did my weak limbs around his neck and waist, "it…it pulls out into a—"

"Already on it." He was no longer a vampire, but the speed at which he flipped the cushions over and unfolded the mattress would have suggested otherwise. I stayed propped up on his other arm, impatiently choosing to magically straighten the creases that his fumbling fingers couldn't.

He chuckled, pulling my hair back so that I could face him, "Aren't good witches supposed to believe in that whole 'patience is a virtue' shit?" The mattress sagged under the added weight of him lowering himself between my thighs, purposely neglecting the puddle that was growing larger just waiting for him. An arm placed at each side of my waist held him above me where he waited with frustrating amusement for an answer.

All laughter vanished from his eyes the moment my legs tightened around his waist, and yes, satisfying as it was, it was also very bittersweet. Bitter because I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought once of Damon: from his cool marble skin that felt just like ice beneath my fingertips, the cold blue eyes that always watched me dare myself not to be dominated by him—and narrowed in victory when I failed—to the quick hands that tore at my jeans fiercely instead peeling them away slowly as did Dean, inch by torturous inch until my fingernails were digging into his wrists out of frustration. Yet, there was also a sweetness to shutting off all the guilt that gave rise to my understanding of the raven-haired vampire. All those years of shutting off the pain, he'd just wanted to feel. And in order to really feel the good, sometimes we were forced not to feel the consequences. I understood that now. "Leave your patience to the angels," the devil on my shoulder kicked down my every wall, "You've made me wait long enough. I'm not waiting a second longer." And neither did he.

There was fire in our kiss that boiled down to our veins, creating the most addicting mix of pleasure and pain. He rocked in and out of me so hard yet slowly that I couldn't help but scream out his name, bite his shoulder, and utter every obscenity the English dictionary had ever claimed. Rough hands molded to my flesh, exploring places that didn't exist seven years ago like fuller hips that tell of womanhood instead of mere teenage dreams, and it's no secret that I'm a little thicker than before in all the right places, plus a couple more. But still he took me all in, every single inch of my skin, until I filled his arms and all the places in between. His curses fanned the flames, built me up to a steady blaze that I hadn't been able to get out of my head since the first time I'd been scorched. And it must have been getting to him as well, because he pulled back a bit, doing with roughly gentle fingers what the whole of him had done just minutes earlier until we'd cooled off enough for him to enter me again.

Little by little, the fire that was building started to return. And, oh God, how I'd missed that slow burn of tension and sin that promised to send me to a place for people in need of the virtues that I had yet to learn. Instinctively, my legs tightened around his waist as he lead me into my very own inferno, hitting seven of its deadliest tiers along the way:

**Lust:**

I wanted him now more than ever,

**Greed and Gluttony:**

And giving me his all just wasn't enough.

**Pride:**

But I couldn't bring myself to beg for it,

**Wrath:**

Because I hated myself for what I was doing to Damon.

**Envy:**

Then the first waves of blinding green light clouded my vision,

**Sloth:**

So that I no longer cared that the flames were calling to me.

Because he was my hell hound, licking and nipping at my skin, and I wasn't content until he dragged me biting and screaming back to the one place I needed to be: his hell.

If anyone had walked past our window at sunrise, he would have found two people scrambling to fasten belt buckles and boot straps, and hurriedly trying to smooth down stray curls that told of infidelity. Now all that remained of our disarray were a couple of shirts: mind and his, lying next to each other by the door. We sat in silence on the bed with our backs pressed together and our hands clasped tightly on each side, too proud to be ashamed of what we'd done, yet too damaged to fully enjoy it. And neither of us wanted to admit what we both knew to be true.

"So I guess this is the part where we're supposed to pretend that nothing happened."

"Nah Green Eyes, that was your deal, remember?" It wasn't an accusation, just a soft allude to the last time we'd been caught in the morning after. He got up and untangled his shirt from the pile. It slipped easily over his head as if it had been there the entire time.

"And now I guess it's your turn." I didn't bother with the shirt he'd thrown me or the uncharacteristic moment of privacy with which he provided by lifting his switch blade from the kitchen counter and wiping it clean of my dried blood. What good would modesty do when he had already seen much more than my lacy black bra? When it was clear that this was the last time we'd ever see each other?

He opened his mouth to say something, then scratched his head with the blade and thought against it. "I can't bring this shit home to you. My life, it's…" his voice shook a little on the word "it's" in the same way that it had throughout the St. Augustine story, "it's bad. Sometimes people get killed, and I can't have those evil sons of bitches follow me, but I sure as hell can't ask you to come with me…"

_Just smile, Bonnie, and whatever you do, _my head screamed, _don't you dare start crying. It'll only make things worse._ But the smile only made it to one side of my lips. "I couldn't leave anyway," I lied quietly. "I've got classes to teach, and I've got—" Just thinking about Damon brought unwanted tears to my eyes. The vampire didn't deserve this type of pain, and I didn't know how I'd ever look him in the eye and pretend that I was any better than Katherine. Still, it wasn't fair for me to lie to Dean and say I wouldn't do it all over again.

"You have a chance at being with someone who loves you," he closed the space between us so that he could wipe my tear-stained cheeks. I swatted at my face before he could. "You'd be nuts to waste that on me, because, all jokes aside, I won't be the reason for your death." It amazed me how much he remembered of the first and only other time we'd done this, even down to my parting words.

"As someone once told me, that's not a bad way to go out." He flashed me that lopsided grin that he knew I couldn't resist. "So I guess this is it then?" The demand to stay strong turned into a silent chant.

I moved out of the way just in time to miss the kiss he bent down to place on my forehead. Saying goodbye made sense in theory, but I knew that if I committed the words to touch, I'd never be able to let him go.

Dejected, he turned toward the door. "Take care of yourself, Green Eyes." Those were the last words he spoke to me before both the door and our final chapter closed behind him.

Closure. The very word itself was such an easy one to say, and nearly impossible to achieve. Because no matter how much you tell yourself that this is the last time, that you just need one more hit, you'll never really be satisfied with what you're left with: the need to get closure from the closure. I thought about this never-ending cycle on the walk back to the manor. Stared up at the expansive boarding house nauseated by the prospect of running into Damon at a time when I just wanted to stand underneath a scalding shower and wash Dean off my skin. If I were lucky, last night's activities would have rendered him too tired to ask questions. However, stepping into the manor, I saw that not only was I not lucky, I was the present cause of a young girl's death.

Damon Salvatore, resident hot head and firm believer of revenge at all costs, stared at me, expensive Italian loafers propped upon a curtain of matted blond hair with blood dripping onto his fresh Armani shirt. He looked like he'd been waiting there for a while. Before I could ask him what he'd done, he held up his phone and pressed a button. Details of how I'd spent my night: the curses, the heavy breathing, the tearful goodbye played in horrifying clarity on his voicemail. "You," his voice was smoother than I'd ever heard. The calm before the storm. "hit the redial button instead." Then he was gone, leaving me standing in a stream of blood, wondering what kind of monster I'd unknowingly created.


	20. THE HEART BRINGS YOU BACK pt 1

**A/N:** Wow! You guys are super amazing. I've gotten so many reviews in the last week and a half. Thank you all so much for reading. **mrs. mathis** as always, your reviews always inspire me to write more quickly. I am glad that you started leaving reviews. I'm sorry that I haven't responded to your review earlier. I tried but as usual, my review reply link won't open. So I'm replying here. I put a lot of work into my stories so that amazing readers like you wont' feel cheated. A little secret though, I've always somewhat wondered what it would be like to write an episode for SPN or TVD. So that's my thought process for each chapter. And thank you for being sweet enough to leave such amazingly inspiring reviews. You are a peach! **Scribe**, you know I adore you like my very own Fanfiction sister. I get many of my ideas from our conversations, and this one was somewhat inspired by a review that you gave me a long time ago. **Yson**, you finished this story so fast. Thank you for taking the time out to review it. **hello**, if you think that the last chapter was a surprise, just wait till you read the next few chapters. And finally, there is a reader who goes by the name **KimBraindead** who read _A Million Ways _in it's entirety over the last week and offered lengthy reviews to almost every chapter. I dont' know if I'll see her for the sequel but I want her to know how much I appreciate her. How much I appreciate all of you. You all make this hobby fun. Now, I have a few more anouncements: 1) There are only six chapters left. 2) This chapter is the only Dean chapter not named after a classic rock song, but it has a lot of significance to the plotline I've mapped out (even if this chapter seems out of the blue, it has a purpose).

**Disclaimer:** The one thing that I love about Supernatural is that it often pays homage to horror films and shows. Which is why this chapter is modeled after a _Twilight Zone _episode called "Developing." Look it up if you want to see the similarities. Now let's get on with it, shall we?

THE HEART BRINGS YOU BACK pt. 1

Dean's POV

About a year ago, Sam and I investigated a string of cases along the east coast. Every front page news headline stretching from North Carolina to Maine featured a story of some young girl hospitalized within a week apart from the last for small injuries like dog bites and minor muscle sprains. Now these cases were never anything to write home about, and hell, they'd have barely even put a dent in dad's journal if we'd had time to write in it. After all, all the girls checked out fine. No underlying possessions, no deadly werewolf bites, not even a single hairline fracture was listed on their previous hospital records.

The better option would have been to leave those girls alone and get back to slashing alpha throats until one of them coughed up the keys to Purgatory. Instead, we'd stuck around, grabbing a bite in one pie joint after another and interviewing any chick involved who had just turned eighteen and was willing to give a little something back to the men in blue. All in all, it had all been fun and games back then. But now? Well, all I can say is, where the hell was Cas with a _Back to the Future _moment when I needed one?

The brunette in front of us was jumpy and for good reasons. It wasn't every day that she came home to find her roommate lying on her stomach, reading a magazine when she was supposed to be rotting in a meat locker at the morgue.

"I know it's a little out of the way but I didn't want to do this on campus and run the risk of bumping into one of the girls." I'll say! She'd driven over an hour out of her way to meet us at this coffee shop outside of New Haven, and so far, all we'd seen her do was pour sugar packets into her coffee and watch the icing harden on her scone.

"It's okay, Ashlynn, just take your time," Sam reached over his plate and placed a reassuring hand over hers to stop her shaking while I continued to stare at the scone.

"It's just that…"Ashlynn sat back in her seat and fanned her heavily made-up eyes, readying herself for all the dramatics that she felt her story needed. Instantly, I regretted not ordering anything. It had been at least an hour and a half since that short stack, bacon, and hash brown combo and we still weren't any closer to finding our this chick's deal. Still, waiting for a story, waterworks and all, that, at this rate, would never even come, was better than going back to the car and checking my phone for messages from Green Eyes. _For the millionth damn time!_ "It's just that, well, I found your card in Jackie's coat pocket and…well, I didn't think that the police would've listened. I mean, who would? Stressed sorority girl sees her recently deceased best friend alive in a dream? Not exactly primetime news material, is it?" Her laugh came out sounding like a choked sob. Nevertheless, she was right. I wasn't sure who Jackie was or how she'd gotten my card, but I knew that if she'd needed our help, her level of S.O.S. had already surpassed dialing 911.

"Wait a second, Bonnie—"

"Ashlynn," she correcte me. _Shit! What the hell had I been thinking? I'd never even called the real Bonnie by that name._

"Right, um…" I restarted, ignoring the way Sam's eyes tried to peel back the layers of my brain, "I thought you said you came home and found your roommate back from the dead?"

"Oh yeah. A-about that…" the girl looked around the diner, making sure that no one was around to overhear or see the large piece of paper she pulled from her bag. The place was dead. Even the waitresses looked like they were ready to lock up and call it a day. And it was barely even 8am. "I kinda made up a lie to get you guys here. I'm sorry!" She threw up her hands just as quickly as she'd said it, "But I needed to make sure that you guys were serious about…whatever the hell this is before I get to the freaky part.

"Freakier than a walking dead roommate?" Sam asked, moving his plate closer to me.

"Much freakier!" She handed us what turned out to be a photo of her and some chick smiling underneath a palm tree. In the background, a male hula dancer gripped her friend's hips. Ivy League in front of us was unattached.

"What's so _Twilight Zone_ about this?" I asked her around bites of Sammy's muffin. "Couldn't get leied?" I wasn't really surprised when the other two moved on instead of laughing at the joke. I didn't exactly feel like smiling either, but I cleared my throat of the chuckle caught in there anyway so that Ivy League could explain.

"Annie and I were photography majors." She laughed at how they were the only two Gammas who weren't majoring in anything serious. "The night of the accident, right before that car slammed into us, I had just finished telling Annie that our photo-shoot fundraiser had finally raised enough money to send the sorority to Hawaii. She was so excited. She just kept saying how she couldn't wait to go and that she wanted to find herself a hot Hawaiian guy to teach her how to hula dance and to take pictures of and…" her sentence died off, "…and that's when the car hit us." One moment of silence later, she moved on to what she thought was the creepy part. "I've been dreaming about her ever since the hospital released me three days ago, but then I went to develop some pictures of us, you know, to give to her parents. And these are what came out." While she took the time to shiver, Sam and I mulled over the facts of her case. Granted, it was taking me longer to process my thoughts through all the fog of murky green eyes and long, tight curls clogging up my brain. But it was good to see that Sam wasn't that far behind in the slow calculation department.

"I'm sorry, Ashlynn, but I'm not seeing the problem here," he told her. She picked the photo from where it lay between our dirty dishes and held it up for us to see.

"After Annie died, the girls and I decided to give her parents the money that we'd raised for our trip. She was on scholarship. Like me. Her parents barely even had enough money for rent let alone their daughter's memorial service. We never went to Hawaii." Sam and I both looked back down at the picture of the two girls laughing and smiling in tropical paradise, wondering the same thing that she was:_ How the hell was this picture taken when they'd never even made it past the intersection?_

"Okay, look sweetheart," I wasn't slipping up on her name again, "I get that you don't want frighten Little Miss Muffets off their tuffets, but if you want us to solve this case, you're gonna have to let us have a look around the Delta Gamma house."

She didn't look happy about it, but she didn't protest. Not that she'd really had a choice. The wave of people coming through the door was her cue to throw a couple of dollars on the table and head for the door. There was no need for her to share her freak show story with the whole town. We added a five to the pile before making plans to trail her to the Gamma house. "By the way," I stopped her before she could make it away from the table, "you gonna eat that scone?"

The entire way, the chick drove slow as hell. "Aw come on lady! Move your ass already!"

"Tell me about it," Sam slouched down in his seat in a way that he only did when he was exhausted, "We should let Annie the Friendly Ghost gank her just for driving the speed limit." I wasn't so distracted that I couldn't hear the sarcasm hiding in his voice or see how his laugh failed to reach his eyes like it had during last week's break from hunting. Our overworked eyes watched Ashlynn's bumper even when the conversation regained steam. "You know, Dean, I've been thinking over some stuff that Ashlynn said and this…thing, it's not violent yet. Yale signaled a left turn toward the exit that I followed with a guarded question of what he meant. "I'm saying that it's not too late to call Bobby and tell him to take this one off our hands." He'd never asked me to do that before. Bobby was racking up years, something that most hunters couldn't hope for. So it was understood that if any of us ever got that chance, the younger hunters would carry his load. Yet, here Sam was wanting me to break that unwritten rule. Now, I had to look at him.

"C'mon Sam. You saw him just like I did. He's all tapped out. Whatever you two did to that alpha back in Fairfax fried him." Another left turn inched us a mile closer to New Haven. Land of the tea cups and pinkies turned up. "We're handling this one on our own."

His eyes flew open a second later than his mouth, fully prepared to tell me just how wrong he thought that I was handling things, and how temporary he feared my humanity was. "…I mean, since when has killing an alpha ever brought the victims back to life? And speaking of lives, are you ever gonna mention the one you left behind in Mystic Falls?"

My reflexes were so used to splintering off into veins, I could almost still feel them growing underneath the hitch in my pulse. "Sam." It was a warning. If he mentioned her, I knew I'd snap.

"You just left her behind. Again!" He didn't look so tired anymore. Anger had long since replaced the laziness of his movements. "Are you even gonna keep in touch? Or did you just put a twenty on her nightstand and say 'Thanks for the lay?'"

The Impala faltered underneath the heavy stamp of my boot on her break petal, watching Ashlynn's red Miata tow away my patience the further she got. Sam watched cars swerve to the side in order to avoid a multiple car pile-up as if he didn't understand my reaction. I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to reel in the red clouding my vision. "If you ever mention her or that damn town to me again, I'll break your giant arms and tie them around your throat, do you understand me?"

Instead of backing down, he sat up in his seat, chest swelling a little as he rose to meet the challenge. "Why can't you just talk about her? Why is it so hard to admit that you actually have feelings? That you'd turn this car around in a heartbeat if she asked you to?"

_Because loving somebody isn't enough of a reason to screw her life to hell. Because she didn't want me in her life anyway. Because she'd made me promise not to come back after we'd killed Klaus—the only promise I'd ever kept. _Those were all the excuses I wanted to give. After all, the kid had said that he wanted the truth. But what I knew he wanted more than anything was a way out through me. And I couldn't be his excuse to quit right now.

After leaving Virginia, Sam and I spent our mornings waking up in Vegas and our nights hustling card sharks who thought that they could make it to the big leagues just by standing outside of Caesar's Palace. It was a nice change of pace for us, healthier, and I have a sneaking suspicion that Sam may have gotten laid last week. I was happy for the kid, but while he was bumping uglies with showgirls, I spent my afternoons drinking more than my liver's worth in smoky pool halls with nothing but my thoughts to keep me company. Which wasn't good for me.

Mostly, I thought about getting out. Bobby wasn't the only one who was getting old, and the more we stayed in a place, the more accustomed Sam grew to waking up in the same place that he'd gone to sleep. That alone, made me want to get in my car and drive off without him, like I should have done twelve years ago back at Stanford. Give the kid the rest of his life back before he was too old to live it. I hoped that he would find another Jessica or Madison, or hell, even a human Ruby-type who wasn't a manipulative bitch and start all over again. _I _wanted to start all over again. But my restart? Well, she was the reason that the drinks had kept pouring till I was seeing double, triple, quadruple times my normal eyesight. So, even though I hated to do this to the kid, I put the car back into drive and sped off in the direction that we'd last seen Ivy League take. Because I needed this distraction. "Because we need to get back to work," I told him, promising to let him make as many library runs that he wanted while we were here until he reluctantly laid back in the seat and smiled despite himself.

The girls living in the Gamma house were exactly like the house itself, high maintenance, yet trimmed to perfection. What I hadn't expected was for these broads to be another goddamn reminder of my soulless mistakes. And yet, there, sitting in various states of undress in the large living room were Dog Bite, Bee Sting, Sprained Ankle, Mono, Pregnancy Scare, two cases of cheerleading injuries, and a tonsillectomy; better known as the last eight chicks that I'd banged before Green Eyes. Bee Sting, a blond with tits the size of dodge balls led me further inside and offered to give me a private interview, which was code for her wanting a recap of last year that I wasn't up for giving. Don't get me wrong, she was hot, and just legal enough to keep me off the "Most Wanted" list. But the thing was, Green Eyes had saved my life, or had at least tried to save what was left of it. And I wasn't about to thank her by hopping into the sack with the next girl wearing a short skirt and a smile before the smoky flower smell had had a chance to fade from my clothes.

"How about a rain check?" I moved past her, walking to where Sam and Ivy League stood by the staircase. "I'll be up in the dead girl's room." One EMF reading away from solving this case.

Sam spent the rest of the night interviewing the girls individually in the kitchen. So far, all he'd gathered from them was that nobody really liked this Annie chick. She wasn't born with a silver spoon up her ass, and they didn't see how somebody like that could even be allowed in the Gamma house. Aside from stories and a silver locket lying on a desk in Ivy League's room—which Pregnancy Scare later took on a date with her—there was no sign of Annie having ever been here, dead or alive. I was beginning to think that, apart from the déjà vu, we didn't really have a case at all. Until four hours later when a blood curdling scream shook the entire house.

Girls in short shorts and tight tank tops raced out of their rooms, rubbing the sleep out of their eyes. Sam was holding one of their shoulders as she hysterically put down the phone in the kitchen.

"The-the-the po-police wants one of us to go down to the morgue and identify a body." The other girls gasped, all except for Ivy League, whose face was suddenly paler than the white walls of this house. "They think that the body they found tonight was Shelly's." Girls grabbed the nearest friend and cried their way to the door, ignoring Sam's requests for them to stay calm. Ivy League watched the whole scene in quiet horror; she didn't notice me slide up next to her on the far wall.

"I'm sure your friend will be okay. The police probably got her mixed up with someone else. I bet she's crawling out of some of some frat dude's bed as we speak." Ashlynn shook her head so confidently that she took me by surprise. "How do you know?" I asked. She risked a glance toward a door, as if the she were afraid that something bad would happen by just looking at it. "Say it Ashlynn. Spit it out!"

"I was down there, developing more pictures." She uncrossed her arms and handed me a freshly developed photo in her hands. Inside the picture, Pregnancy Scare stared up at me, eyes frozen like she'd seen a ghost. Her heart sat a few yards away from the gaping wound in her chest. Right next to the locket that I'd seen her take from the dead girl's room. It wasn't the kind of piece you wore out to classes and frat houses. Even at Yale. And especially not if you were broke. Unless the necklace was a gift from someone that she wanted to impress.

"Hey, you wouldn't happen to know the story behind this necklace, would you? Like an heirloom from a rich great-aunt that no one knew about." It took her a few shakes to get drag her attention back to me.

"It was a gift from her new boyfriend I think. Some old guy with a Germanic name that began with a K…"


	21. SET FIRE TO THE RAIN

**A/N: **Many thanks to all you amazing readers. **TheSouthernScribe**, I know I said I'd get this out about two days ago, but I had some rewrites to do. Thanks for your support as always though, and thanks for being patience. **RubyLily7**, I've read a lot of Supernatural fiction. Some of them are so close, you can practically hear them talking, and some of them are not quite as close, so I'm glad that you think that my interpretation is one of the close ones. I hope that you like this chapter as well. **Bright sunny days 1**, I love your name and I love the fact that you like Bonnie/Stefan's friendship. I see a lot of potential for those two to be friends, especially with the whole mind reading thing. **mrs. mathis**, you flatter me to no end. And I adore you for it. I was your summer beach read? How awesome is that! I thank you for the kind words, and really look forward to all of your reviews (everyone). Also, thank you to **KimBraindead** for the lengthy reviews. They are entirely too sweet. And if anyone has time please read her story _Broken Blossoms _and _Rules of the Chase_ by the lovely **TheSouthernScribe. **Now, the next chapter is going to take some time to write, because it takes a specific amount of detail to help it play out the way that I want to, and I am currently at a block, so please bare with me. Only 5 chapters left till the end.

**Disclaimer: **The title song is "Set Fire to the Rain" by Adele, because I feel as though a lot of characters will be setting fire to the rain in this chapter, and if you're familiar with this song then you'll know why as well by the end of the chapter. Now let's get on with it, shall we?

SET FIRE TO THE RAIN

Bonnie's POV

"Do you, Caroline Forbes, take Tyler Lockwood, to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death do you part?" Caroline recited these vows into a brightly lit vanity adorned with pictures of Old Hollywood's most glamorous blonds. A myriad of designer eye shadows, lipsticks, and facial primers lay sprawled around the note cards in her hands as Garbo, Davis, and Monroe waited gracefully for an answer to the bride's question.

Elena emerged from the adjoining bathroom in a lavender-grey strapless gown identical to my own that was surprisingly classy despite the amount of ruffles stitched into the floor-length skirt. She fussed over the beading at her midsection that pinched her skin through the soft satin fabric and threw a playfully scornful glance in our best friend's direction. "Care, you do realize that you don't have to memorize that part, right? Those lines are for the minister. All you have to do is repeat after him and say 'I do' when the time comes."

Caroline turned a full 180 degrees in her seat in order to fully address the brunette's concerns. "Is it so wrong for me to want just one day where everything stays perfect?" She dared us with a raised eyebrow to come up with an objection to either her wishes or her use of the word "perfect" to describe today's ceremony. And perfect it was. Her dress was from Vera, her jewelry was Cartier, and the catering was extravagant enough to have sent her a hasty steak knife straight from a jealous Wolfgang Puck himself. But gaudy appearances aside, all was not as flawless below the surface, because now that the wedding hour was approaching, the marriage aspect was becoming all too real. As were the up-and-coming mayoral elections in which Tyler was a candidate. We all knew how much carrying out his father's legacy meant to Tyler, even if he hadn't been very fond of the impudent man during his life. He couldn't afford the scandal surrounding the secret affair of his fiancé and best man. Not to mention the council's sneaking suspicion that he was a werewolf whose wife-to-be had knowingly invited vampires into their home. One whisper of either claim to Tyler or his constituents and both his candidacy and their marriage would go up in smoke.

So with all of those worries looming around us in the guest room-turned dressing area at the Lockwood estate, Elena smiled lovingly and offered a shortened version of the minister's speech, "Do you, Caroline Forbes, take Tyler Lockwood, to be your lawfully wedded husband from this day forward until death do you part?"

Caroline breathed a long satisfied sigh, turned back to her audience of long-dead actresses, and issued the answer that they'd all been waiting for, "I do!" As if summoned by the thoughts of looming worries, Damon took that exact moment to lean across the doorway, arms folded; smirk screwed firmly in place.

"You clean up well, Barbie. And here I was all prepared come up here and choke on parasols or petticoats or whatever the hell it is that you love so much about that ridiculous _Yawn With the Wind_ movie.

The object of his ridicule swallowed back a very unladylike snort which suggested that she knew of a couple dozen other obstructions on which the undead charmer could asphyxiate.

Luckily for all of us, Elena responded before any more animosity could slip into their conversation. "Well, Caroline decided to take a tastefully modern approach on the décor of her wedding."

Damon's smirk grew into an evil grin. "Yes, modern women are _quite _tasty, aren't they?" He ended the statement with a wink in my direction followed by a contemptible lick of his lips. Elena blushed and Caroline rolled her eyes, wrongly guessing that this remark was some kind of allude to the sexual nature of our relationship. Only he and I knew that the real reason had to do with his recent murder of my anthropology and folklore student Felicia, something that he had denied all week. Now he was taunting me with it. "Speaking of tasty women, there's an entire backyard filled with semi-drunk, morbidly desperate, yet still mildly attractive former sorority girls begging the good father to give you just 'five more minutes,'" he said in a high pitched female voice. "And you, Ms. Gilbert, had better get down to my nervous and predictably brooding brother before he makes a bunny run." Elena drew us all into a tearful hug that felt more like goodbye than good luck and hurried down the stairs to meet Stefan and the rest of the wedding party before Caroline could even spritz a cloud of Chanel No. 5 into the air.

Once the room had cleared, Damon entered and stuck out a deceptively polite elbow for me to take. "Miss Bennett." How he had managed to get Tyler to not only include him in the wedding party, but talk his fiancé into letting Damon take Matt's place as my escort down the aisle was beyond me, but I wasn't exactly excited about the change. Especially given that things weren't at all copacetic with my new escort and me.

For the last eight and a half years that I had known Damon, I had stood witness to various changes in his mood. There were the months upon months that he would spend pining away for love's touch to come in the form of deep olive skin and give his afterlife the only meaning that it had. Soon enough, he would find the pining irksome; the vampire having grown momentarily tired of leaving his love life left up to fate would stalk the streets looking for a nice face and a pair of hips round enough to pretend—with closed eyes, of course—that the woman writhing and twisting on top of him was his long lost love or at the very least, his brother's new flame. Then, in the blink of an eye, his disposition would turn deadly, deciding that the physically spent girl coming off her ecstasy high beside him wasn't even worth the flimsy one-ply toilet paper with which she wiped her ass and end her life on the spot.

"What? It wasn't like she had any family. I did her a favor," he'd more than likely say to his brother or the brunette permanently tattooed to his sibling's arm, no doubt counting on their forgiving natures. And this was all during my first few months of knowing him. Since then, he'd loved, hated, and sought revenge, sometimes all at the same time which is why I'd prepared myself for the blow of his hands. Gotten myself ready for the crash of tumblers and window panes as I sent his body hurling through the air in retaliation for the attack. After all, we had fought for insults much more frivolous than this.

But all week—impromptu murder aside—he had been on his best behavior, serving me breakfast in bed and running nightly baths filled with enough eucalyptus leaves to tranquilize an elephant. If one hadn't known better, she would have thought that Klaus's slaying had brought us closer together, but Rose wasn't fooled by the display. She had been home that fateful morning. She'd heard the voicemail, heard Damon's breath painfully hitch at the sound of me screaming out Dean's name, and she couldn't understand how he could sit idly by and reward me for my betrayal. "Do you have no more self-respect than to continue to love a woman who is clearly still madly in love with another?" She'd been quiet for most of the week, but after six nights of watching him lie across his empty bed, perfectly unaffected, as if nothing had happened, she had had enough.

"Despite my internal elation over the fact that my existence has turned into nothing more than a shitty CW drama whose writers are clearly a bunch of fanfiction-obsessed tween girls, I fail to see where any of this is your concern." His voice sounded distracted even from where I lay praying for sleep in the guestroom down the hall.

Rose's voice; however, was very involved; growing further from him and closer to me. "It's my concern, because sadly enough, I am just as pathetic as you. But unlike you Salvatore, I refuse to stay here and torture myself with unrequited love any longer." She stuck a head into the room where I'd lain and issued a hate-filled, "He is the only thing stopping me from ripping your heart out and throwing it into the fire next to his," then she left me to fall asleep with restless dreams of Damon's face twisted in pain that killed me a little more slowly each hour. Little did his vampire confidant know, this was exactly what he wanted: for my own guilt to eat me alive and distract me from the makings of his plan. And it had worked. Until now.

"People are waiting, Ms. Bennett. Or would you prefer me to call you Miss Pierce instead?" The comment seized the blood in my veins, crippling me in exactly the way that he had wanted it to. And all the while, I wasn't stupid. Okay, so perhaps I'd made some recent decisions that sought to disprove that claim, decisions for which I should have known better. That I will never deny. But I knew more than to expect for Damon's only punishment to be the mental abuse of making me hate myself.

"I'm not going anywhere with you until you tell me what you're up to." Damon stepped closer to me, stealing all the air from the tiny room.

There was a smile on his face as he linked his arm through mine, whispering, "People. Are. Waiting. Bonnie," but the hint of venom in his growl was impossible not to detect. This was all part of his trap, one that I was forced to walk directly into for Caroline's sake. Slowly, the smoky-eyed demon backed away from me with hands poised high above his head in the universal sign of surrender. "Fine. If it makes you feel better, I won't touch you. We can walk out there in painfully self-controlled awkward…ness. It'll be just like 1864 all over again. I promise," he crossed his heart and smiled at me as if I didn't know that his promises were usually signed in blood. The thought of forcing a smile in front of a congregation of people dead-set on witnessing the merriment of sworn love was about as nauseating as it had been during Tyler and Caroline's engagement party. Yet, I couldn't deny that he was right, Caroline was waiting quite impatiently to walk down the aisle, and she couldn't do so until Damon and I had made the trek first.

The entire backyard of the estate was decorated with white chairs roped off with ocean-grey streamers that were tied at the middle with blood red roses. A red carpet led Elena and Stefan arm in arm down the aisle in front of Damon and me as the pianist started the first strains of "Make You Feel My Love." When the wedding singer got to the part about knowing where her lover belongs despite the fact that he hasn't made up his mind about her, Damon chuckled beside me. "What the hell made Barbie pick this song?"

"Tyler picked it as a surprise for Care. They had their first kiss to this song in college." I whispered to him the story that Caroline had gushed over countless times. She had just broken up with that week's Damon Salvatore with a pulse and had let Elena drag her off to a party, not knowing of the latter's plans to get her together with our nocturnal childhood friend. It was all so romantic. Very Caroline.

Damon huffed out a small bitter laugh as we started walking arm in arm—per Caroline's insistence—that made me reluctantly ask what song he'd have chosen instead. "All American Rejects' 'Dirty Little Secret' comes to mind," he lowered his mouth to my ear, "especially after what I have planned."

It took everything I had not to wrench my grasp from his. "What are you going to do?" I whispered loudly. He ignored both me and the strange looks that we were getting from the guests. I lowered my voice and hissed in a volume that only he could hear, "Dammit Damon, just tell me what the hell you're up to!"

"In due time, Bon Bon," he chided through tight, clenched teeth that looked like a smile to those unsuspecting of the man's vengeful nature, "You know that good things come to those who take."

"It's 'good things come to those who _wait,_' Damon" We were nearing closer to the alter, getting ready to part ways when his slight laugh gave my body a parting shake.

"Not the way I say it."

The rest of the bridesmaids filed in behind Caroline, showering the red carpet with white rose petals, as there were no flower girls to do it for them. Sheriff Forbes, who was dressed in a formal version of her uniform, sat in the front row, dabbing her eyes. Next to her, Mrs. Lockwood clutched her hand and wiped her eyes as well, although not nearly for reasons as joyous as Liz's. Looking around, I saw that everyone was feeling the sentimental effects, even Tyler and Stefan, who tried to pass their tears off as sweat due to the extremely large tent that we were standing under in such unseasonably warm weather. And I wanted to cry too. Tears of happiness over gaining Tyler as a pseudo-brother-in-law. Tears of sorrow over what I'd done to Damon. And more than anything else, I wanted to cry tears of downright pain over losing Dean yet again, because celebrating in all of the fanfare was really making me realize all that I was missing. And for the first time in my life, I wanted what Elena and Caroline had. But I couldn't bring myself to cry for or envy any of them, because the wink that Damon had given me once the blushing bride reached the alter washed away everything but warning.

"Dearly Beloved," the minister started, "we are gathered here today in the presence of these witnesses, to join Ms. Caroline Forbes and Mr. Tyler Lockwood in matrimony." At that moment, my phone began to vibrate wildly in the tiny rose red bag that Caroline had attached to all bridesmaids' bouquets. Elena tore her eyes away from the wedding bliss just in time to see the name RENY flash across the screen. There was question widening her brown eyes. "Which is commended to be honorable among all men; and therefore – is not by any – to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly –" Beside Matt, Stefan furrowed his brow at me. He seemed to be sending me some kind of mental message, but I couldn't hear him. "…but reverently, discreetly, advisedly and solemnly." Come to think of it, I hadn't been able to hear Stefan's thought this entire week. He had to have heard what happened between Dean and me. Between Damon and me. And yet I could hear nothing. Not a single thought. "…Into this holy estate these two persons present now come to be joined." _Why couldn't I hear him!_ Another vibration brought my attention to a text message that read:

***You have to stop this wedding! NOW! –Reny***

Elena mimicked Stefan's raised eyebrow. They seemed to be able to sense that something wasn't right. My stomach churned, causing my knees to knock together wildly. "If any person can show just cause why they may not be joined together…"

_The girl is right Bonnie, _Grams' voice was inside the wind._ Listen to what she and your instincts are telling you._

"…let them speak now or forever hold their peace." My heart pounded as Damon walked in front of the happy couple and took his place in front of the congregation. He uttered a bitter laugh similar to the one that he'd let out during our wedding march, and evaded Caroline who mistakenly thought that he was about to issue another ill-timed wedding toast. His eyes turned even colder. They seemed to echo his previous thoughts: _"Dirty Little Secret" comes to mind…especially after what I have planned._ And: _You know that good things come to those who take. _I had missed it earlier, but now I knew exactly what he was about to do.

"Do you have any opposition that you would like to share?" The minister, who was very young, looked as taken aback as everyone else. Clearly he had never ordained a marriage that had been opposed.

"As a matter of fact, good father, I do." Damon was beaming with pride, fully pleased with himself until I cut my eyes at him. Then his smile turned to a grimace of pain. Not however; because he was buckling underneath the force of his brain cells popping, as I'd hoped. In that regard, he was still standing fully erect, watching as the first drops of blood hit the white roses in my hands. That's how hard I was using my powers, and they were working. The flaps of the tent slapping their posts excitedly were proof enough that my powers were working. They just weren't working on him. His look of hurt turned into one of amusement. "Don't do this, Damon." No one could hear this plea but him.

Yet, he answered as if I had screamed the request. "Now, now, Bonnie. Don't you think that Fido here deserves to know what's going on? Not everyone can be lucky enough to find the incriminating evidence on their voicemails like I was."

Tyler's hand around Caroline's waist stiffened a little. "What kind of incriminating evidence?" Caroline paled underneath her red lipstick. She looked as if she wanted to die. And now, Damon had gone too far. I no longer cared that half the town—including the council—were here to witness my spell.

My eyes shot a stream of fire into the air that showered Damon's hair and shoulders like raindrops. He felt nothing, but the desire to throw this entire town into the flames that failed to engulf him. "Evidence of Sex Tape Barbie fucking your best man." All previous conversation went deathly silent, except for Tyler who snatched himself from Caroline and hurled an enraged fist at his former best friend. Caroline let out a horrified scream for me—or Stefan, or really anyone for that matter—to do something about the two men that were trying to kill each other and hurling insults like "Now you know how I felt when you made out with my mom," and "It was one lousy drunken kiss, Matt! But at least I didn't fall on her dick first."

Finally, Stefan and Jeremy were able to pry the emotional wolf off of his victim and push him toward the direction of the house. Around us, rain started to fall. The tent was meant to keep out bugs and slight drizzles, not the torrential downpour that reminded us it was December and threatened to ruin what was left of Caroline's wedding. She didn't care though. To her, all happiness had been ruined the moment Damon had stepped up to the alter. Maybe even the moment he was invited to the wedding.

Sensing that his work was done, Damon turned back to the crowd. "Well, if anyone needs me, I'll be at the bar. You're welcomed to join me. You look like you could all use a drink." Which is exactly where I found him five minutes later, sucking champagne from the crook of a bartender's neck who barely even looked young enough to drink, let alone serve them. As soon as they saw me, he whispered something in her ear that sent her into a fit of giggles, twirled his finger around his temple and nudged at me as if to say, "she can get a bit insane, so could you just give us a few minutes, please?" She jumped off his lap and pouted until he promised to rejoin her in five more minutes, which was all I needed to send the half full bottle of Chardonnay into the side of his skull.

"What the hell did you do to my powers, Damon!" I used the powers in question to smash another bottle and held the jagged end up to his jugular.

"They seem to be working just fine to me." He nonchalantly moved the levitating shard of glass from his throat and placed it onto the bar. I sent a bowl of olives his way.

"You know what the hell I mean vampire! Why are you immune to my powers?"

He plucked an olive from his silk shirt and chewed it thoughtfully. "Now Bonnie, you didn't seriously think that you were the only witch I knew did you?" _Another witch! So, he's protected by another witch._ My mind immediately reeled back Reny's question last week: "Can a witch break the charms of another?" _But she wouldn't. Would she?_ Damon rolled his eyes and silenced my internal debate. "Your Charmed School rejects are safe and sound. And trust me, my witch is far more experienced than yours." This made sense, even though I had never known Damon to have many friends. But the question of why Damon would intentionally hurt Caroline—who had never done anything to him—still coursed through my thoughts. Of course, he had an answer for that one as well. "As you and Katherine have both proved, nothing stings worse than being burned by the one person you trusted." A part of that comment was meant for Caroline. Devastated and broken Caroline, who was even more pissed at me for inviting Damon to her wedding than she was at Damon for ruining it. Yet, there was a deeper part of that statement that was meant solely for the vampire himself. He too had been devastated. Oh, he feigned heartlessness well, concealed his feelings behind a wall of scotch and Sexy Graffiti perfume, because they were his smoke and mirrors. But as with any other form of false magic they were all an illusion to hide the obvious. That something in him had died the night I'd saved Dean. I just prayed that that something wasn't his humanity.

"Look Damon. I'm sorry that I hurt yo—"He flinched away from me as if I had set him on fire (successfully), and stood up so fast his stool crashed to the floor. My throat was in his fist in a second.

"Don't you dare give me that 'I didn't meant to hurt you bullshit! You don't know the first thing about pain, but you're about to." He used his other hand to smooth down the pieces of hair that had come loose from my hairclip, "Because I've only just begun to make your life a living hell."

Damon released me into a hard wall of muscle, sending an infuriated glare at the owner of those muscles before he took off to meet the bartender. For a split second, my heart raced. And I thought that maybe it was Dean. That he had come back to grant me one moment of reprieve even though the house of cards that I'd been dealt had just fallen down around me. But the face attached to the muscle was only Elijah. "What do _you_ want?"

"It's nice to see you too Ms. Bennett. Quite the mess you've gotten yourself into, isn't it?" I was in no mood for another vampire. I had really had enough of them to last me a lifetime. "It seems as if we've had a bit of a misunderstanding the last time we talked," he went on. "If you mistook my concern for the doppelganger's life as anything more than selfishness on my behalf, then perhaps I've overestimated your intelligence."

"Well, if you mistook my saving _Rose's _life as anything even remotely concerning you, then perhaps _I've _overestimated _your _intelligence." He grabbed me before I could go find Caroline.

"When I came to you, it was because I trusted that you could follow directions. Not take it upon yourself to "handle," he emphasized his sarcasm on the word with air quotes, "the situation on your own. Which you failed to, by the way." I was not about to argue the fact that Dean would have died I we had waited any longer to a man…No! To a selfish blood thirsty leach who had no authority to stake claim over my actions. I had just finished telling him so when Caroline walked between us at the bar demanding that I give her the Jewel of Eclipse back.

"Jewel of Eclipse?" I stupidly repeated.

"Yes, Bonnie. Now, give it back. Tyler's going to need it during the eclipse… If he ever speaks to me again." She melted into a fresh puddle of tears, choosing Elijah's jacket as a place to rest her head since this perfect stranger's arms were the closest that she could find. He smoothed her hair like the devious monster that he was and assured her that everything would be alright. But how could it when he didn't even realize just how horrible things had gotten. Inside my head, he continued to whisper, _I suggest that you keep the jewel for yourself. After all there is a reason for every name…_

Something about the way that he said it made me run. Run deep through the woods in search of Damon. Maybe it was the fact that I was supposed to have been rid of Elijah. He was an extension of Klaus, and Klaus was dead. Him being here, telling me that I had screwed up somehow didn't make any sense, and I was hard-wired to run toward anything that could make sense of this mess I'd made. Still, as my heels dodged thorny branches and sharp rocks, not stopping until I reached the boarding house, I knew that I had run out of realization of what Elijah's presence really meant. Because even though I was pretty sure that Damon's life was as good as over, I couldn't stop myself from searching for him.

On the couch where Damon should have been, there was a note instead. Rose stood staring, first at it, then at me. "It was here when I arrived. I've been waiting for Damon to come home and open it, but…" she couldn't finish her thought, because we both knew that he wasn't coming home. We read the note together in silence.

**If there is one thing that I despise most in this world, it's a cheater. Games are more fulfilling when they are fair, like chess. Which is why I have seized your gallant knight. Now, I will give you a choice, surrender my queen by the night of the eclipse. Or I will go after your king. **

–**My regards,**

**Klaus.**

Inside the envelope, lay a glass chess piece; a queen holding a single red rose in her hands. Rose turned the piece over in her palm until the bottom faced upward. Along the bottom there was a message: **Check mate… **


	22. THE HEART BRINGS YOU BACK pt 2

**A/N: **I am completely overwhelmed by all of the reviews that you guys have been sending. Thank you! **KimBraindead**, I know that you haven't gotten this far yet, but I just wanted to let you and the rest of my readers know how much I appreciate your reviews. They inspire me to be a better writer. **Yson**, I hated writing about Damon's abduction. I can't tell you anymore, but I look forward to talking to you about it in reviews and messages. **mrs mathis**, I'm glad that you liked Damon's dialogue. I loved writing that. Bad Damon is so much fun, isn't he? And again, thank you for making me your summer read. That amazes me. **Bright sunny days 1**, as I told you in my reply, you are so sweet. I didn't know if Damon's revenge would come off as more childish than diabolical but I had to follow my heart and that's where it led me. So thank you for liking my train of thought. Ha! Finally, **TheSouthernScribe**, I've basically thanked you for your reviews and told you how amazing that you are through our messages so I'll just say thank you for the support and for enabling my sad JA obsession. Ha ha. Okay, guys, things are really dwindling down. We only have four more chapters after this one.

**Disclaimer: **Again, this plot is a slight allude to _The Twilight Zone's _"Developing." Now, let's get on with it shall we?

THE HEART BRINGS YOU BACK pt. 2

Dean's POV

**-THEN-**

"I just got back from cheerleading practice," the couch sagged beside me as the tall redhead that sat down and folded her legs in front of her. Our shoulders clicking together was as rough as the speech slurring her words. One shot of her parents' expensive scotch and she was already wasted. I was working on my fifth. "That's why I'm so sweaty."

I barely even noticed the beads of sweat dripping down her legs once the mention of being a cheerleader came out of her mouth. "You're a cheerleader?" I may not have been drunk yet, but the alcohol in my system was sloshing around in my brain like traffic in the slow lane. Her lips curled upward at the sight of my dropped jaw, muttering something about her being a flyer. I repeated the words that seemed to be moving in slow motion. "A flyer? What's that mean?"

She moved her lips to my ear. "It means I get to be on top." Her slender hands had a mind of their own, and if there was any common sense in that mind, they wouldn't have been creeping toward the crotch of a guy whose conscious didn't feel a damn thing but the anticipation of her body in my lap.

Like the other seven girls we'd interviewed before her, this girl's parents were out of town on business. They called leaving an eighteen year old girl who had recently been hospitalized for what they thought was a sexual assault—but was, in all actuality a pregnancy scare—good parenting because they were leaving her with who they thought was a member of the NYPD.

The maid muttered something in Russian that made me think she'd put a curse on me if she could. And I couldn't say that I blamed her either. Soul or not, screwing teenage skirts just to pass the time before our next case was practically booking a one way ticket to pitchfork city. But without a conscious, Crowley, Lucifer, and all the demons in Hell could personally eat me, because I didn't give a damn. And neither did Pregnancy scare.

When we'd finished, she sleepily hugged the silk sheets to her rack and sank into the pillow. The streetlight outside glinted off the silver band on her left ring finger. A purity ring. My eyes quickly scanned the sheets down to her thighs. If I could have felt anything at that moment, I'm pretty sure I would have felt my lungs closing up in fear. But I couldn't. Not even when deep red blood trickled down her legs and blankets. _What the hell?_ She noticed me staring at the blood and shrank back even further into the sheets, eyes shiny with tears. "Danny didn't count!" I didn't know what she'd meant by that, but those were the last words she said before I hightailed it out of her window to meet a very pissed Sam in the car.

Pregnancy Scare wasn't a bad kid. She was just messed up like most kids her age whose parents barely had time for them and made far too much money to care. She sought comfort in Black cards and douchebags who couldn't do anything for her but get her killed. And because of me, that's exactly what had happened…

_"The-the-the po-police wants one of us to go down to the morgue to identify a body. They think that the body they found tonight was Shelly's." Girls grabbed the nearest friend and cried their way to the door, ignoring Sam's requests for them to stay calm. Ivy League watched the whole scene in quiet horror…She uncrossed her arms and handed me a freshly developed photo in her hands. Inside the picture, Pregnancy Scare stared up at me, eyes frozen like she'd seen a ghost. Her heart sat a few yards away from the gaping wound in her chest. Right next to the locket that I'd seen her take from the dead girl's room... _

_…"It was a gift from her new boyfriend I think. Some old guy with a Germanic name that began with a K…"_

**-NOW-**

As soon as word got out that the body found in the woods last night was indeed Pregnancy Scare, Sam and I went down to the morgue to have a look for ourselves. He pulled the cold metal gurney out of the meat locker, and with a snap of his Latex gloves, peeled down the pristine white sheet that shielded her body from view. The mask of horror from her mug shot had permanently glued itself to Pregnancy Scare's face as she stared at a room that was as grey and lifeless as her skin. There was a puddle of blood drying in the fabric over her chest, jogging my memory back to the night I'd left her bleeding in her bed. _Danny didn't count! _It felt like a lifetime ago, since that night. And seeing her now: cheeks sunken, blue eyes glazed over and rheumy, it felt like she was a completely different girl as well. A part of me wondered if this was how the Sanchez family had found little Jessica: all cold and grey, slaughtered in her bed by someone whose best excuse was "she shouldn't have shown up on my radar." The whole of me couldn't let go of the fact that, no matter how many people we tried to helped, my obsession with hunting—and using it as an escape from Green Eyes—did nothing but create messes that my ass couldn't ever seem to clean up. No matter how hard I'd tried.

Sam answered the heavy crease in my brow with his trademark frown that said _Don't go there. We can't save everybody. You know that, _glinting off the point of his scalpel. He angled her closer to me, gearing up to make the first cut in her stitched up chest.

"Dude, don't turn her this way, you're gonna get her guts all over me!" Sam countered my attempt to push her body more toward him by lobbing the shelf back in my direction.

The lab room attendant saw that moment as a good time to jump up from her lunch of chicken salad sandwich served next to a jar of what could have been either olives or eyeballs. Given the silver chain stretching from her lip piercing to her eyebrow ring and the intricate reaper tattoos on her arm that looked a lot like Tess minus the Maxim cover meat suit, neither would have surprised me. She folded a copy of the coroner's report over her crossed arms. "Who did you two say you were with again?" Bread crumbs stuck to the stud bobbing in her bottom lip.

"For the last time, ma'am," Sam replaced the scalpel in his hands with a pair of thin surgical scissors, "we are with a private sector of the FBI that deals with abnormal cases such as this one." He didn't even bother looking at her raised eyebrow over his shoulder like I did.

"Since when is the FBI, private sector or otherwise, concerned with turning natural deaths into the X-files?" Natural death. That's what the police and every coroner with a reporter's tape recorder shoved down his throat were calling our toe tag's death. They rattled off less than technical versions of a report that listed her probable cause of death to be cardiac arrest due to extreme terror of a physical stimulus. Keep in mind that it left out the obvious claw marks on her chest. Oh, and the ten inch hole just below them. _Yeah, because that wasn't strange at all. _

I skipped past the boring parts describing the damage to her lungs, liver, and kidneys, and all in depth recounts of the calcium buildup in her heart, because I knew that it was all a load of bull. The whole city of New Haven may have been willing to pass these recent deaths as natural occurrences, but since when was anything natural about a girl playing hide and seek with her own heart two miles away from a sorority house that had caught the whole thing on film before the crime had even happened?

"Since legacies started flying off the map in droves." I answered her. The lab tech fidgeted the hoop in her lip, unsure of what to say or do. She wasn't particularly young enough to care about breaking the rules, maybe in her late forties or so, but judging from the black shirt that read: "You're body is art, so have a heart" over a picture of a cadaver with a hole in his chest," I could tell that she took her work home with her. She was somewhat like us in that way; too wrapped up in the way that she'd always done things to let someone younger and, what she deemed, less qualified come along and screw up her hard work. But faced with an order from two men with federal badges, there wasn't much she could do, except watch Sam pry Pregnancy Scare's chest open with rib spreaders as she walked off grumbling that the only good part about this town "bringing the suits in" was finally being able to eat in a place that didn't smell like gastric acid. I gagged a little just thinking about the smell.

She left me in here with Dr. Jekyll who dug his hands into our corpse's chest cavity like he was digging for gold. I wouldn't have considered myself to have a weak stomach. I usually did about fifty shots a week and often chased them with greasy food served on dirty dishes while still dressed in clothes that were covered in guts from our last kill. When dealing with gore, I did it with dreams of foot long Italian subs running through my head. But when it came to sawing through skulls and squeezing fresh hearts, Sam was the only one out of the two who could do it without finding his face planted inside a toilet bowel later. I blamed dad for not moving him before ninth grade dissection like he had with me.

"Well?"

Sam continued to grimace.

"What is it?" I wanted to get the hell away from this place. All of these dead bodies were giving me the creeps.

"It's…" a juicy red heart pumped air though unattached ventricles from the palms of Sam's hands.

"Still…" I couldn't make sense of it any more than he could.

"Beating." Our eyes fell to the table. From what we could tell, the girl with the white washed eyes lying between us was dead. And not just brain dead. She was full-on dig-a-grave-and-shove-me-six feet-under, "Amazing Grace" dead. Blood that used to flush her cheeks when she got hot and bothered was evaporating in her veins as we spoke, and not even life support could have brought this broad back to the land of the living. Only her heart was still beating, throbbing on the metal tray where Sam had thrown it. The only sound that passed between us was the electric generator in the corner and the pumping of the phantom heart that kept bringing our attention back to the plastic bag vibrating at its side. The silver locker sat inside it.

"Annie met him about a week ago," Ivy League and the rest of the Gammas sat at the large dining room table on either side of Sam and me. She dangled the silver heart pendent from its chain. "I never met him. She was always so secretive about the guy. I think that he might have been a professor."

"I saw him once," all eyes turned to a tiny chick sitting at one corner of the long table. "Well I mean, I didn't exactly see him. I saw them. I…went in her room to borrow some nail polish and I saw their shadows." She piped up in her squeaky childlike voice. The long pigtails weren't doing much to get the kid image out of my head. She was the type that oozed energy even when she was running on zero hours of sleep, like she had last night, and last I remembered, she liked to walk around with bells tied to a bracelet around her ankle. The ten of us sat around the table, waiting for the jingling to stop and her to continue. "Please don't make me say it!" The way she said it made it seem like they were skinning cats for some kind of satanic sacrifice. She sighed heavily through her nose, chest pushed up to her neck. "They were…you know…doing it." She whispered the last part as if she'd dropped an F bomb big enough to blow us all to kingdom come. I remembered only then that she was shy. Always had been.

**-THEN-**

For a girl who had just had a tonsillectomy, her mouth worked fine. Trust me on this one. I wasn't exactly proud of the way I'd dicked her along, but just between the two of us, she had a mouth like a suction. She was stop number four out of eight on our east coast monster hunt and showcased all the signs of a banshee before we finally realized that she wasn't screaming through the streets because she was a member of the undead; she was yelling and sleepwalking because she had night terrors caused by side effects from her tonsillectomy pills. Another side effect? They made her too loopy to care about her visiting and banging random guys in dirty motel beds.

There was a tattoo on the small of her back that framed her ass in Asian characters. She told me that they stood for the phrase "virtue until wedlock." I told her to turn around and let me take a break from doing all the work. Sam walked in mid-cowgirl, steamed by the puddle of blood growing between us on the mattress. Needless to say she'd grabbed her clothes faster than I'd taken them off, completely unable to look him or me in the eye.

**-NOW-**

She still couldn't meet his gaze. The rest of the girls went on talking about times that they had come close to meeting our original victim's boyfriend as if she hadn't said anything. One girl claimed that he was in his mid-twenties and had blond hair and brown eyes. Another volunteered that he was bald, dark skinned and old enough to be her father. "Grandfather," someone yelled out only to have another claim that her boyfriend was young with black hair, blue eyes, and a name that began with a D thrown out in its place. We were no closer to finding out who was killing these girls than when we'd come back from the morgue.

Sam took the necklace out of Ivy League's hands and flipped it back and forth until the locket snapped open. Instead of finding pictures of her loved ones smiling happily between the silver frame, this girl's locket held two bloody finger prints over a written inscription.

"Until the heart stops beating," Sam typed the dedication onto his computer screen along with the words "phantom heart syndrome." All that came back were articles for sleep apnea, phantom limb syndrome, and a story on some fiction writing site called "Phantom Heart Syndrome: The Romance." _Romance my ass! _I thought. _Try living with a phantom heart for real._ The links disappeared with a click of his thumb, and he typed keywords for articles containing information on any previous deaths in Yale's Gamma house into the search box. Again, nothing came back.

_Damnit_! I wanted to punch a hole in the wall. We would be here all night at this rate, researching possible reasons for unrest in a house that was barely even a year old while the rest of these girls took off for parties and study groups. I suppose it didn't matter anyway. Ashlynn was rendered pretty much useless after finding the faces of Pregnancy Scare's death developing in her dark room last night. She even talked to her advisor about switching majors.

"Business Administration," she grabbed a large book filled with charts and statistics in her arms, "the only pictures lying around in these books are the marginal utility charts," she laughed like we had a clue as to what she meant.

"Do you know where we can find Annie's grave?" Sam scooted his chair closer to the table to make way for the tiny girl with the pigtails who ran either out of nervousness over the word "grave" or embarrassment over what had happened between us last year. "You know, to pay our respects?" His mind was turning over thoughts I knew he'd bring up later when the girls had settled down for the night.

Ivy League tilted her head to think about it for a second. "You can't," she answered after a while, "Annie's parents had her cremated." Sam sat back in his chair with a strange look playing over his face. I'd have known it anywhere. It was suspicion. Something about this chick being cremated had clearly piqued his curiosity.

"Hey Kimmy," Ivy League yelled to our tonsillectomy case, "don't forget this." The silver locket flew between the two girls followed by a laugh and a door slamming. We both stared at her. "We all made a pact to wear it one night this week. In Annie's memory." It took us twelve hours and a visit from the police later to realize that that damn locket was the clue that we'd been looking for.

We spent the entire day watching them reinstate clues that we'd already ruled out and trip over the one we'd kept: the necklace. They weren't satisfied until they had taken it and every new photo that popped up from the darkroom, leaving us on temporary lockdown with the rest of the girls until the autopsy of Kimmy's charred remains was finished.

Sam and I camped out in Pregnancy Scare's room. Kimmy was her roommate and while we hadn't had the chance to check her body for freaky beating hearts, we were willing to bet that if either of them planned to show up somewhere, this room would be their first haunt.

"I don't know, Dean. I'm not entirely convinced that we're dealing with a ghost anymore." Sam had his back to the window, his profile was serious in comparison to the half-hearted inspection that I was giving the girls' room. So far, I hadn't gotten past their movie collection, which consisted of chick flicks and poorly written horror films. If you could really classify 2009's version of _Friday the 13th_ as horror.

"Well something's turning this house into sorority row and it sure as hell ain't," I picked the closest DVD from their shelves, "_My Bloody Valentine_."

There were papers, printouts, and profiles of each girl that lived in this house littering the desk in front of him, ruffling with the sound of empty leads and loose ends. They formed a map of all the avenues we'd tried and failed at so far. Still, the kid sat back and revisited his notes like there was more there than a disgruntled ghost in good need of the salt and burn treatment. "I'm telling you. There's something strange about this case." He was adamant about this.

"No shit, Sherlock." This case had stretched the meter on strange. Even for us.

"No I mean…" he turned to me now but kept his face down to the papers in his hands, shifting as though he were looking for something specific. "…Take Annie Luong for instance. She was a photographer, right?" I shook my head in agreement. "Well then why aren't there any pictures of her lying around the house? In photo albums or hanging up in picture frames…or hell, even on internet networking sites?" I'll admit that this one struck me as odd as well. What young girl, especially ones who looked like these chicks, didn't like having her picture taken? But I didn't follow his lead just yet.

"Maybe she was just camera shy or something."

He passed me a yellow piece of paper with notes written in his sloppy scrawl-like handwriting. They were from his conversations with the others. "It's not just about the lack of pictures. Look at the notes under Stephanie Wexler's commentary." He waited for me to read it. "The girl claimed that Annie's family believed in strict, old Catholic rules." We stared at each other long and incoherently. I didn't see what that had to do with her coming back as Casper's girlfriend. "Traditional Catholic beliefs do not condone cremation!" He was getting worked up now, turning around and picking sheets out of his freaky files for me to see.

"So what are you saying here, Sam? Huh? Are you saying that you don't think Annie's real. Is that what you're trying to tell me?" That's what I heard myself say to him. When really, I was thinking to myself, _A simple salt and burn case. I just wanted a simple salt and burn case to help keep my mind off Green Eyes. Was that so friggin' much to ask for every once in a while?_

"I don't know, okay. I don't know what I'm saying," he walked to the door and raked a large shaky hand through his hair. "But these stories aren't matching up. Plus, I went to the admissions office today and checked them out for myself." I wasn't going to ask how he knew where the admissions office was or when he'd found time to go there between sleeping and watching the girls. Frankly, Sam viewed the subject of school just as sorely as I did with any mention of Mystic Falls.

"And?"

He waited a moment. "And these girls shouldn't even be here. None of them are passing any of their classes. And rich parents or not, there aren't enough donations in this world that could make Admissions bend the rules. Not even Cas could have gotten them in. Admissions would have to have been compelled—" His eyes bulged. He stared at me, and then back at his notes. Up, down, up, down. He was driving me crazy.

Now I was standing too, gripping his shoulders to keep him steady. Or maybe to steady myself. I didn't like when he got riled up like this. Nothing good ever followed heavy silences like these. "Sammy, talk to me! What's wrong?"

My arm on his shoulders made his shaking worse. "I think I just found the connection. All these girls...don't you think it's a little strange how they all ended up at the same college, pledging the same sorority a year after being with you?" Oh, I'd noticed it alright. From the very moment I walked in here I'd noticed how their eyes filled with recognition, because I'd seen the same look when I'd passed the mirror. Yet, I tried to pass the situation as a coincidence. Just a downside to how popular Yale was with old-money types, knowing that I wasn't fooling him one bit. "It's more than that and you know it. These girls all bled at your hands…so to speak. He waited for me to put together the last piece of a puzzle that I still couldn't' see with a pained look on his face.

"What are you trying to say?" He looked even more frustrated than uncomfortable now.

"Dean, they were all virgins. At least until you…" It dawned on us both that this was a trap. The eight girls were lured here by a chain of innocence that I'd broken through. Their deaths were linked to me. The fact that Annie and Ashlynn were the only two odd balls just made his earlier theory that the admissions board that been compelled stand out more.

"And what do we know that has the power to compel and hates me enough to try and trap me with it?"

Disbelief took over his stupor even as I grabbed my duffle bag for the stake that lay unused at the bottom. "No. He wouldn't do that." I turned around so fast that the bag fell to the floor. _He wouldn't do that? He was a damn vampire who had tried to kill my ass more than once. And I had reason to believe that, based on previous testimony, he was screwing Green Eyes over. Only now that Sam had become BFFs with the asshat's brother, he was trying to tell me differently. _"They also said that Annie's boyfriend had blond hair, dark skin, and could have been old enough to be her grandfather. Just because one of them gave you a description that matches Stefan's brother, doesn't mean that we can just leave in the middle of this case to start staking vampires."

Our voices were waking the girls up. I could hear high pitched conversation through the thin walls as I paced the room. "Why the hell not?"

"Because how many witch hunts have we passed up in the past week?" What happened in Vegas spilled from his mouth in heavy accusations that our bartender was a witch who'd kept filling my glass without even touching it. I didn't remember that part. I remembered that she'd had curly hair: thick and soft looking. It had brushed my arm a couple of times when she laughed. I remembered that she'd had a tiny waist that flared out into the hips of someone else. But I don't remember much else about her. Least of all that she was a witch. Sam was still talking when I zoned back in. "…and I didn't want to bring it up, but the beating heart? The psychic pictures? Classic signs of witchcraft. And I think that we need to start checking these girls for pointy hats and broomsticks." I pushed him against the door. We were _not_ going to start blaming witches for what was clearly some bloodbag's fault.

Just then, a large scream rang out from one of the rooms down the hall. When we got there, we found Ashlynn backed against the window by the last person she expected to see: her dead roommate Annie.

"Jesus, Ash! You nearly gave me a heart attack. I forgot my key okay?" The ghost who dug in her empty, transparent pocket as proof didn't seem to hear Sam take out a book of matches and ask Ivy League if anything in this room belonged to Annie.

"Everything on that side was hers!" The terrified girl clung to the window as if she wanted to jump out of it.

"Jesus, Ash! You nearly gave me a heart attack. I forgot my key okay?" Ghost Chick dug in her empty, transparent pocket again. That's when I noticed that something wasn't right. Annie was talking to Ashlynn about forgetting her key as if she were still alive. But the direction of her conversation was directed at the far wall. Like she was on loop. The wall behind us went up into a blaze of yellow flames that ignited our ghost and turned her into a ring of fire at our feet. We were surrounded on all sides by a circle of flames. I looked from Sam to the evil grin on Ivy League's face. Her image switched from the sweet college girl in the Khaki shorts to a diabolical—and unfortunately hot—skank whose black dress hugged her curves tightly.

"You evil bitch!" I hated to admit that she'd pulled the wool over our eyes. I hated even more that Sam had been right about one of the girls being a witch. Even if the writing was spelled out in fire on the walls. She extinguished every flame in the room with a flick of her wrist except the circle that bound us.

"You made the whole thing up," Sam spat, "This whole case was a setup, wasn't it?"

She smiled cruelly, "Well yes, I'll admit that Annie, our ghost, was my own personal creation," she snapped her fingers and produced the hologram that we'd mistaken for a ghost just minutes ago. "But I wouldn't have had nearly as easy a time here if it hadn't been four eight very special, and very dead, ex-virgins."

"Bullshit! One of those girls had had a friggin' preg—"

Her tongue clicked naughtily. "Turns out, Danny really was too small to count. She was still intact after that sorry ass F minus lay. Until she met you, that is." Her eyes darted to the fly of my jeans, "You should really watch where you stick that thing. You could catch something…Or get caught by something."

I'd had about enough of this bitch and the dick that had sent her here. "You go back and tell Leather Jacket to get ready, because after I kill you, his days are numbered." She tipped her head back and laughed, black hair spilling down her shoulders in rivers.

"Silly Rabbit, my orders come from a higher power, and he wanted me to give you a message." She evaporated into a puff of red smoke that extinguished the ring of fire around us. In her place was a photo of Green Eye lying dead on the floor; Klaus kneeled on top of her with his fangs sinking into her mutilated throat. Seeing Green Eyes' dead body should have put me in motion, racing down the highway like Hell was on my ass just to get to her. Instead, all it did was knock the wind out of my sails. Crippled me more than any other loss ever had, and I hoped to whoever was in charge up there that this picture was from the future like all the others had been and not something that had already happened. Because I didn't know what I'd do if something had happened to her. I'd never forgive myself, that's what.

The silver locket dangled from the window sill in front of us, swinging back and forth when Sam picked it up. He looked at the inscription closer this time, sucking in a deep breath the way I wish I could. He finally understood it.

_Until the heart stops beating…_


	23. BATTLEFIELD

**A/N: **I hope that all of you lovely readers have had a great week. Thank you to **Yson**, **Bright sunny days 1 **(glad you liked the symbolism love), **RubyLily7** (As some of you know, I am a HUGE Jensen Ackles fan, so even though I try not to write Dean in such an obvious fangirl way, I too like to allude to other works that the actual guy's been in), **mrs mathis** (writing that chapter was daunting. I really didn't think that people would like it. I wasn't sure that I liked it at first, but I'm glad that you were sweet enough to tell me that you liked it), **KimBraindead **(Your reviews are always so involved. I am very lucky that you and all the rest of my readers have come across this fiction), and finally, **Scribe**, I hope that this one doesn't send you back into the corner. You crack me up, and again, I cannot thank you enough for suggesting that story. I can actually picture what's going on. It's filthy in the best way possible! :) Now that I am done professing my love to you all, I will let you get to the story. Only three more chapters left (sorry **mrs mathis**).

**Disclaimer: **The title song is by Jordan Sparks. The lyrics don't fit that well, but the music behind it inspired me to write this. Now let's get on with it, shall we?

BATTLEFIELD

Bonnie's POV

_The voices in my head were worse than any jealous onlookers that Caroline could ever have encountered. Worse yet, they were the voices of my ancestors. Witches I'd either known or known of, and all of whom I'd idolized, were banding together in the deepest crevices of my mind to voice their displeasure with me. I stood in blackness with nothing but a spotlight to highlight my presence on what I assumed was a stage, shielding my eyes from orbs that blinded me in their brightness. Before me, there was nothing. Nothing but whispers; white hot whispers in a darkness that could just as easily have opened up to a vigilant audience as it could have to the Devil himself. Then, the first voice became clearer even as its rant was already in progress, "…carry on as if they are this epic love for all time. It's deplorable!"_

_"This one is different." A second voice argued. There was so much wisdom in those subtly smoky words that I recognized it instantly as Grams'; it was a realization that comforted me even at a time when I wasn't sure that I deserved comfort._

_"It isn't natural!" This scream was lighter, childish, and almost whiny in timbre. Judging by the puerile nature of the loopy-written love spells in the grimoire I'd say that the previous voice belonged to the author of those spells, making her argument hypocritical at best. _

_"This one is different," Grams repeated. Her voice was joined by a couple others now, all of them attesting to my innocence of a crime for which I was obviously guilty until proven otherwise. But not in Gram's eyes; which was really all that mattered to me. _

_The others were not as forgiving. Their words were as wicked and cruel as they'd claimed my actions to be, "She should burn at the stake for what she's done!" _

"_Her punishment should be more fitting of the crime, sister. If the arrogant child wants to whore out her veins, then perhaps a blood sacrifice would be more appropriate." Some laughed at this idea as if the possibility of draining me to my death were the funniest thing in the world. How they thought that they were any better than vampires was beyond me. _

"_I still think that we should strip her powers and drown her." Another churlish voice demanded, "I fear the child would enjoy the draining far too much for it to be of any use as a punishment." _

_The whiny cry of outrage returned, "Feeding a vampire! Bedding a hunter! It isn't natural!"_

_The shadows swelled around me as talks of my death decrescendoed to a dull drone in the background. The crowd was deliberating both sides of an argument that seemed to sway further toward my annihilation. It wasn't certain how much authority Grams had over them. It seemed unreal for her to have anything less than final say over this situation. But maybe that was just wishful thinking facilitated by a seventeen-year old child's memory of her stern gaze hushing even the loudest protest from my stubborn tongue. Breath swells in my lungs. I came here tonight to ask for a favor for which I couldn't possibly afford pay. But I was willing all the same. I was ready. I was still a Bennett._

_"Silence! Now, Maribel Bennett" the small voice choked out a small whine at the sound of her name, "you were the one who foresaw her need for the anti-imprinting spell; therefore, you cannot blame the child for using her blood to save the hunter. And you _will not_ blame Shelia and I for bringing her attention to the recipe." I thought over this new piece of information. Was Dean the "kindred spirit" that broke Stefan and my psychic bond? _

_My young foremother, Maribel Bennett, whimpered loudly as hers and other requests for my death were denied by the mysterious voice. "However," the mystery ancestor continued, "that does not mean that you are completely innocent of your charges." She read off a number of offenses, including consorting with vampires, and tainting my flesh through indecent acts. Or in laymen's terms: I was being accused of having a sex life involving Damon. "How do you plead, my daughter?" _

_I had held my head high during the reading of my charges. Now, I raised my chin to the blank sky. "There is no excuse for what I have done. I was neither compelled nor ashamed and I refuse to exhibit either of those traits now. If you must punish me, then punish me, but I alone am to blame for my actions. And I would do them again if given the chance." Grams materialized in front of me, then, winking with pride. If she had instilled anything in my head, it was responsibility for my actions. I smiled back, ready to brave the storm. _

_A spotlight beamed down over the judge's bench; Emily sat high and mighty above the rest of us. She too looked proud, and not the least bit surprised at how I'd pled. "Then that will be your punishment. You shall go at this mission with Klaus alone. At least for now." With this verdict in place, the floor dropped away, and I fell._

_My back hit a soft cushiony surface that was bordered on by wood. After further inspection, I realized that this surface was a coffin, one coffin amongst a room full of caskets occupied by once-friendly, now-dead faces. Elena, Jenna, Alaric, Stefan, Damon, Klaus, Rose, Bobby, Sam, and Dean all lay in rows that pointed to a small table in the middle of the room. A severely aged man sat at this table eating pizza as if dining with the dead were something that he did so often, it didn't even bother him anymore. Perhaps he_ was_ Death. The man swallowed a forkful of deep dish pizza, forking another._

_"Ms. Bennett," his voice was crisp like rustling papers. All the bravery that I'd previously had evaporated into fear. This man petrified my ability to move. "What do you wear to a southern funeral?" The slice of pizza grew smaller as he waited for me to answer his riddle. _

_Finally, I found my voice. "I don't know. Why?" He made a show of drinking dark brown liquid from a straw and wiping his mouth slowly with a napkin more wrinkled than his hands. When I looked around again. The coffins were no longer there. Instead, I was standing on my feet watching my loved ones stare quietly down into a hollow hole that was fit for a body. It was hard to tell who was missing amongst them, who they were mourning. I looked back at Death for an answer. He was directly beside me, monitoring the onlookers as well. "Because, someone is going to die today…" _

"Bonnie, come back! Come back Bonnie." My trance ends with a frantic shake from Stefan that instantly forces me back to the boarding house. All around us, candles flicker wildly to the beating of my heart, quickly at first, then they die down to illuminate Stefan and Elijah. Otherwise known as the moon and stars of my acai summoning spell. And in the middle of our chalk-drawn circle, lies Rose, the sun around which this entire doppelganger/eclipse curse revolves. Usually, this ritual was conducted for conjuring evil spirits in need of vanquishing, but I had used it to summon positive energies as well, like back when I still thought that Dean was just a mysterious mechanic named Sam Johnson. "What did they say Bonnie?" Stefan moved back into his place along the circumference, "Will the witches postpone the eclipse?"

My eyes flickered over to the place where Rose's head overlapped Elijah's lap as I answered Stefan's question, "They won't help us. They think I'm abusing my powers and disrespecting my family's advancement from blood donors and sex slaves to monsters like you." This accusation was directed toward Elijah, who swirled a bouquet of dark red liquid up to Rose's nose and patted her head as if she were his pet; only there to serve his purpose and nothing else.

"My deepest apologies for the way that my kind has treated your ancestors, Ms. Bennett. However, I am here to insure that things between our races never descend back to those dark ages of slavery and slaughter." He kissed the terrified vampire squirming in his arms on her forehead before tipping her head back and filling her mouth with the thick glassful of blood. Steam bubbled from her open mouth, smothering the screams that were trapped inside of her burning throat. Vervain. He'd spiked her blood with Vervain for no apparent reason other than the fact that watching her writhe in pain seemed to amuse him. "There, there, Rosalinda Isabela," he cooed gently into her ear, "you'll thank me for this later." The cocktail that she spat into his face was quickly replaced by another cup of the deadly poison.

Stefan momentarily tore his attention away from me to focus on his brother's undead friend who was currently trying to claw her throat to shreds on the hardwood floor. Elijah, put his flask of Vervain back into his suit jacket just in time to watch Stefan send him spiraling through the air. "We don't have time for games Elijah."

The elder recovered far too quickly for the younger vampire to register, and pinned his body along the outer edge of the circle. "You will show me some respect you arrogant little tick, or I will rip out your larynx, feed it to your girlfriend, and turn her into a demon far more evil than Katerina ever was." Usually, a threat like this would have sedated the second born into an obedient mound that was ready to be molded into anything his aggressor deemed fit just to keep Elena safe. But the Stefan in front of me was not the same man who had, over the course of seven years, become my soft-hearted best friend. He was colder, bolder, and it seemed as if all of his grief over Damon's abduction had somehow made him older. He reached for the front of Elijah's shirt, directly over his heart, and snarled his own fatal threat. Neither one of them noticed me fondle a fat piece of white chalk in my hands and change the symbols in the sphere to fit Emily's Circle of Protection over blows that candidly whispered "I'm sorry. Neither of us should have let our brothers' rage get this far." Yes, that's right. Klaus and Elijah were brothers, a fact that Stefan and I were still having a hard time digesting on such little sleep.

Last night, Stefan had stayed at the boarding house with me. While most people slept, he and I had torn the house apart looking for any clue that we might have missed the first time, any clue at all that could kill an original whose heart had been removed. Every journal that we read said the same thing: stake the vampire with a silver knife and rip his heart out, making sure that all parts are attached to the knife at all times.

"Are you sure you guys took out every piece?" I had asked Stefan from inside the pile of books circling my waist in the dimly lit library. He looked away, and enclosed me inside his arms. There was tension radiating off of our skin in tendrils as thick as our friendship used to be, because he was keeping something from me and could sense that I knew it. "Stef, if something went wrong when you and the hunters tried to kill him, you had better tell me." I looked up into his face, demanding an answer.

Stefan led me up to the guest bedroom, set a steaming mug of chamomile tea in my shaking hands, and wrapped me tightly in the blankets. He hesitated before speaking, "Bonnie, you've been through so much this past week, what with losing De...and then Da… what I'm trying to say is that both of them care a great deal for you. As do you for them. And given that they knew how the other felt about you, well…Sam and I never should have let Damon…" His lips pressed into a firm line that made me shoot up violently in the small bed.

"You and Sam should never have let Damon what? What did Damon do?" My heart pumped ice cold dread through my veins. Stefan grabbed the tea cup on the night stand before it could crash to the floor.

His words were more soothing than they were before, "Bonnie, you're the best friend I've had since Lexi died, and I would do anything for you, you know that. But the one thing I won't do is face Damon's wrath if Klaus kills you because you were too worried to sleep the night before." _If Klaus hasn't killed him already. _Naturally,I couldn't hear his thoughts, but we'd grown close enough to understand each other anyway. No words necessary. He tried to hide his doubt of ever getting his brother back in a parting hand squeeze, "Good night, Bon. We've got a big day ahead of us." Then, he turned off the lights, shutting me behind a thick web of darkness. And when the sun came, so had Elijah with a gleaming silver knife and a story of how Klaus had callously turned him into the brother he'd never had. His partner in crime. His biggest enemy.

Now, that silver knife glinted off the ring on Rose's finger from its place beside her in the circle. I tried to ignore the way that it called to me, and how good it would feel lying in the palm of my hands by flipping through pages of the grimoire, but I was like a woman possessed. Craving the feel of Klaus's blood without any clue on how to get it and keep Rose alive at the same time. Which is, of course, when I realized that there wasn't a way to kill Klaus without killing the doppelganger in the process. But there _was_ a way to kill the ancient vampire without ending her life permanently. It was the very theory behind the family ring that Emily had charmed for Jonathan Gilbert, and was also similar to what I suspected Klaus had used to cheat death.

According to Emily's great-great grandmother Belinda Bennett, protection rings were first used to protect Egyptian pharaohs from supernatural harm. However, their amount of protection was only as good as the type of death employed. So say for instance, that a vampire ripped a pharaoh's heart out. Even if the king were wearing a ring, his life still wouldn't be restored, because his heart would no longer be attached to his body. Therefore, pharaohs hired priestesses to bind their organs' function to another living being. That way, if their hearts were torn from their bodies, it would still beat long enough for a shaman to place it back in the monarch's body. For as long as I had been a witch I had been led to believe that this tactic would not work on a supernatural being. But seeing it written here, I realize that all I need for this spell to work is a beating heart; something that transitioned vampires just so happen to have.

"I think I've found something," Stefan and Elijah detangle themselves from each other and race back to their spots in the circle. They read over the spell as I extract Rose's ring from her finger, mix it in a bowl of my blood, and bind it with a thin layer of clear candle wax.

"And how do you know that this will work?" Elijah watches me place the fixed ring back onto Rose's shaking finger. She can't move anything but her hands and feet, reminding me a little of the crickets that used to get stuck on the wax paper underneath Grams' kitchen sink. "You're not exactly human."

I tell him that I don't know, because that's the truth. I don't know if any of my plans will work. But I won't forgive myself if I just give up trying. And honestly, I'm too damn angry to accept failing. "My mother was mortal. Rose's life will bind with my human side for as long as the eclipse lasts. So, as long as I kill Klaus before it ends, she should be fine."

Stefan places a cool hand above mine before I can raise the knife any further than waist level. "There's got to be another way around this. We don't even know if this will work." Yet, even as he says this, I can feel the spell taking effect, can feel Rose's vampire strength mingling with the witchcraft in my blood just as her heartbeat slowly binds to my humanity. My mother's humanity. Grams, Emily and Belinda, the only three of my ancestors who are still on my side, flood my veins with power that I can feel rushing beneath my palms.

I throw Stefan and Elijah far across the room and pin them both to the wall with quick binding spell so that they cannot try to stop me. Then, I sit on top of a screaming Rose with Elijah's silver dagger raised high in my hands. From where the two vampires dangled, all they could see were two women wearing black, tangled in each other, making it hard to tell where the predator ended and the prey began. Her mouth gapes open in a silent scream of horror. "I'm sorry Rose, but Klaus expects for a death to occur during the eclipse. And that's exactly what he's going to get." The knife plunges into her heart just as a large waxing moon moves to block out the sun's blinding rays and all other residual screams. All three vampires lay temporarily—hopefully—unconscious inside the manor. They never even saw me walk out the door.

When I reach Damon's car, Reny is there with boxes bulging in her tiny arms. She looks reluctant to see me. Almost tearful. That's when I notice the bus ticket in her hand and the cab blocking the driveway. She follows my eyes and looks down in sadness.

"You knew," I say in regard to Dean nearly dying. Or maybe it was about Klaus not dying. Either way, she shakes her head solemnly.

"I'm just glad you finally figured it out." The cab driver behind her bobs his head to whatever is playing through his ear buds, happy to let the meter run for however long Reny needs.

"So why are you leaving?" Humor dances beside the sadness in her eyes, and she laughs a little bit.

"Well, things have gotten boring again now that the Winchesters have left," she bites her lip the way she always does whenever she's hiding a vision. She reminded me a lot of myself at eighteen, "Besides, you're not coming back from this battle with Klaus, and after having a witch for my folklore professor, taking your course from a sixty-year old with a hard on for the supernatural just wouldn't seem right." I smiled at her for a second, banishing my first idea that she was like me. She was more a mixture of Dean and me. Maybe that's why I had always taken a liking to her. And just like him, she's moving on.

Suddenly, her other statement takes precedent. "Why did you say that I wasn't coming back?" For the first time ever, she voluntarily hugs me, haunting me with her nightmares of what's yet to come: _There I was in the dark lair, sending one sloppy newborn vampire after another to his and her final resting place with surges of power that were taking just as much of a toll on me as they were on them. My body lurched to reject a large blast of electricity that turned the last vampire into a pile of dust at my feet. The world grew fuzzy after that. I was winning and losing at the same time. And then Klaus was in front of me, pulling a curtain back as if he were presenting me with some sort of prize for all of my efforts, but instead of wrapping paper and bright red bows, all that lay behind his shield was Damon, who screamed for someone behind me to rescue me from here before Klaus kills me. I fought the invisible arms pulling me from my own wreckage, yelling, "No, Damon! No, I won't leave you! I won't let you die here." Klaus took special pleasure in this admission and used that moment to extract a large wooden splint from the chest of a nearby vampire's chest. Damon's collar bone and sides were covered in angry red scratch marks that weren't healing like they should have been. Klaus thrust the splint deep within his victim's stomach, twisting upward until screams tore themselves from both me and Damon. Then I fell to the ground…_

Reny ended the hug after that, leaving me dazed and defeated. "So that's why I'm not coming back." My voice was suddenly strangled. "I'm going to die in there." Death's warning came to mind,_ Someone is going to die today._

The pint sized witch in front of me wore a small smile that made her seem wise beyond her years as she bent down to pick up her boxes. "Professor B., last month, you called me to the Grill to tell me this long story about how some guy gave you hell a million years ago. And do you remember what you said when I asked you what all that had to do with the paper I wrote?" I shook my head. Anything past Dean coming back to Mystic Falls felt like a lifetime ago. The blond sighed, "You told me that if we don't learn from the past, we were damned to repeat it in the future. So that's what I'm giving you, a glimpse into my past vision of you. And I pray that you can change your future." The look on her face told me that she didn't have much hope for the best. Fresh tears followed the dry tracks that ran down her cheeks as she whispered a small goodbye.

"What are you going to do now?"

She placed her boxes inside the cab. "I don't know. Sam was pretty cute," she laughed at the surprise on my face, "so maybe I'll meet an impossibly tall drifter of my own." The entire time that I had known her, she had never even seemed attracted to anything other than living a normal, magic-free life. Her late friend Felicia was overtly sexual. Reny, on the other hand, was practically asexual. She never even talked to young men her age beside her stocky, severely dependent best friend Daniel, so to hear her talk about them now so unabashedly let me know just how much the world had changed in the last four weeks.

"But where will you go?" Tears were streaming down my face as well now.

Her smile was sly and insinuating. "With any luck, he'll send me to Hell." And with a final wink of her eyelashes, they were gone.

The entire ride to Fairfax, I thought about what Reny had said about catching glimpses of the future. Normal people called it a bad vibe. The more closed-minded of them would accuse the feeling on mere paranoia and chalk it up as a product of too much chocolate before bedtime. Those who were liberal enough to heed the warning would call it intuition and take precautions. I'd always thought of myself as a pretty open-minded person. How could I not be when I had been blessed with a grandmother after whom strange occurrences regularly followed? But even in my most accepting state of mind, I'm not sure that I would have been believing enough to see the truths that hid from me in plain sight. Not without knowing my roots.

Without my powers of perception, I'm sure that I would have lived in this town forever, only slightly questioning the coincidence of the heightened animal attacks surrounding the Salvatores' arrival. Perhaps, those attacks would have alerted Dean to find this place—and me—and we would have had no way around giving the heart and body what they wanted. And maybe Fate would have found a way to make him leave me in the care of the very cause of his profession; only to have that cause stolen from me as well. Without any of the clues and weird feelings, chances are, I still would have ended up right back here: driving down the road to death, watching the grass fade from yellow to brown under the blinding darkness of an eclipse.

Yet, while parking the vintage Camaro across the street from Klaus's nest, I realized that Reny was right. We'd been given a glimpse into the future for a reason, a reason that I fully intended to take advantage of.

Now here I stand, wind blowing my hair and clothes around in a self-imposed thunderstorm, holding Rose's life in a jar in my hands. He could smell the blood. I knew that he could, and the thought of his greed being his ultimate downfall forces a sickly pleased smile onto my face that tasted sweet. Like revenge often is.

In the distance, I swear I can almost hear a car's engine. The radio blares heavy steel drums and tinny electric guitars that used to only be familiar inside jukeboxes at the Mystic Grill. From underneath the singer's wails, I imagine that I can hear a familiar raspy voice that always causes the pulse in my thighs to ache, but I can't understand a word that he says; I'm too consumed with the need for destruction to think about anything other than washing brain matter off my clothing.

So Klaus was out for blood, was he? _Well that's okay_, I smiled to myself. Because this time? So was I.


	24. THE END OF THE LINE

**A/N: **Thank you so much to **TheSouthernScribe** and **KimBraindead**. I hope that the battle proves to be as kickass as I made it out to be. And to **lively**, obrigado por sua comentário. Eu não sei se este capítulo vai mudar a sua mente, mas eu realmente aprecio a revisão. Por favor, escreva outra se você gosta deste capítulo. Mais uma vez, espero que eu escrevi que corretamente. Por favor me diga se eu não o fez. Now, I really didn't have any inspiration when I wrote this so please excuse it's lameness. Only two more chapters to go.

**Disclaimer: **the title song is by Metallica. Now let's get on with it, shall we?

THE END OF THE LINE

Dean's POV

"She's going into the building!"

That's all I could fix myself to say while Sam and I watched Green Eyes walk from Leather Jacket's car to the nest. She had that look in her eyes, the one I'd seen play across her face night after night in sleep terrors that haunted me even after my head shot up from the pillow. And I knew that she was out for the kill just from the narrow slant of her eyes. Usually, that venomous glare was directed at me. She and I would face off from opposite sides of the garage like two outlaws in a spaghetti western who had only learned one lesson in life: how to shoot somebody who'd already outdrawn them. But even though witnessing her hand herself over like this, along with an army of windstorms and hurricanes, was the very definition of my worst nightmare, it sure as hell wasn't a dream.

Sam rolled the driver side window down—no way was I stable enough to drive right now—and screamed her name while I gripped the door handle with fingers that were barely even able to curl around it, they were trembling so badly. I knew I had to get it together fast, or I would be just as useless on this hunt as I had been when I was a vampire. But there was too much at stake here for me to concentrate. Never seeing her again because she'd finally realized that she deserved better than waiting for me was one thing. Having our alpha rip her from away me was something entirely different that I wasn't willing to deal with. Because I couldn't lose her. Not like this.

The last straw was when Green Eyes ignored the Impala's loud horn in favor of blowing a rusty door lock with the lightning that was streaming from her hands. "That's it!" Somehow I managed to get the door open, but not before Sam grabbed my arm. "Sam, get off." Any minute now, I knew that Klaus's fledgling blood hounds would rush through that door and eat her alive. After all, that's what they were there for, to guard him from outside threats like the witch barging onto their doorstep as if she didn't even care that they were out to take lives. Maybe because she was here to do the same. Sure enough, her foot barely had enough time to trip the threshold before one of them came out wearing a black leather vest over equally dark leather pants. He licked his lips in an appreciative way that made me want to rip his entire jaw out. Sam grabbed for me again, his grip tighter this time.

"Dean, focus! We need her to keep them preoccupied on the inside so we can find the alpha's heart, okay?" _Okay? Okay?_ There was nothing okay about the shit he was saying to me. Because all it really sounded like was, _let's use your girlfriend as bait, and…_what the hell was I thinking calling her that? She was just a helpless civilian, though it was hard to think of her that way while electricity was crawling up her arms, in need of saving. I needed to keep believing that, needed to keep things in perspective.

So instead, I shrugged out of his grasp and gritted my teeth over fistfuls of his shirt in my hands. "Then you'd better get your ass in gear and find that heart, because we don't have much time, and I can't watch…" I rubbed the back of my neck, then pounded the dash board in frustration. "I just can't alright?" Back at the door, the leather-wearing son of a bitch was cradling the jar of blood she'd given him in one hand while his other crept closer to the indent of her ass as he led her into the nest. My hands immediately reached for the stake gun at my side. "Shit, Sammy! We have to do something!"

"Listen to me," he grabbed my shoulders in order to make sure that I not only heard but understood every word, "I'm not an amateur, and I didn't just meet you for the first time this morning. I know you love her too much to watch her die. And I'm not asking you to. All I'm asking is that you stay behind and keep watch long enough for me find Klaus's heart." In the time that it had taken us to drive from New Haven to Fairfax, Sam had explained the details of what really happened the night he, Bobby, and the vampires had tried to stake Klaus.

"When Bonnie projected herself into the nest, she distracted Klaus long enough for us to break his wolves free. But before she disappeared, Damon heard…" I hadn't really paid attention to the beginning of the story. Now wasn't exactly the time to find out whose ass I needed to kick for not finishing the job the first time; thereby putting Green Eyes in danger now. But as usual whenever _his_ name came up, I started listening. If at the very least, just for another reason to hate him. As if having _her_ wasn't enough.

"Leather Jacket heard what?" I forced my voice to sound as unaffected as possible.

He'd waited until the outline of Green Eyes' body moving against the shadows of the tall grass became visible before answering my question. "He heard her scream for you, and ripped Klaus' heart out on the spot. None of us even got a good look at where he'd thrown it before he went rushing back to Mystic Falls." So now I knew. That person who deserved the ass kicking for screwing up this hunt? That would be me. Which is why all I could do was agree to play lookout while he found the heart so we could burn it.

Sitting alone in the front seat of my car as I waited for Green Eyes to come out of the nest—hopefully in one piece—I wondered how many nights dad had watched mom walk into the line of fire with nothing but a salt gun at her side until it became too much for him to handle. He was clearly a better man than I'd ever be. I didn't know how he'd done it for so long when I could barely even stand the wait for five minutes. Every second that the clock ticked away, I imagined Green Eyes lying cold and lifeless on her back like the picture resting on the dash board. Only instead of Klaus huddled over her, I saw a team of doctors unsuccessfully working a pair of electric paddles over her chest before they finally gave up and crushed me in five words: "Call it. Time of death, 12:05pm."

At 12:10, I got out and paced the parameter of the car, praying for mom, dad, and even Green Eye's own grandmother to get her out of there alive. By 12:15, I had given up chasing ghosts and turned my pleas to the only other living person on these grounds that I trusted to answer them. _Come on Sammy, don't let me down._ When 12:25 rolled around, my feet hit the pavement, headed straight for the basement window, knowing damn well that if I wanted to make sure she got out all right, I'd have to man up and go after her myself.

Let me just say though, sliding head first into a ground floor window with a five pound rifle on one shoulder and a freshly sharpened machete strapped to the other was no joke. Especially with all the neck feeders hanging from their cages with hungry thoughts filling up their heads. The upper level vamps roamed around a large lobby that had seemed a hell of a lot brighter when I'd snuck inside last week, talking about all the ways they could continue conning their victims into coming to them instead of hunting them down like other nests do.

"BellwardFTW. It has a nice, desperate ring to it." One of them was reading from a flat computer screen as he walked aimlessly down a marble staircase in the corner. I remembered him from the night I'd been turned. His hair stuck up in a hard helmet of dark red spikes like a cartoon version of the vampires some teenage girls cried themselves to sleep wishing they could find. "And her status says that she's impatiently waiting for her perfect Edward. I think it's time we put her out of her misery, wouldn't you agree?"

"Um…I uh…with all due respect sir, her profile says she's only twelve and that her parents won't let her go out after dark." The girl walking beside him on the staircase was scared shitless. This could have been for the obvious reason that disagreeing with an elder was strictly forbidden in this place, but I was willing to bet that a large part of her fear came from the fact that she was the only human walking amongst monsters that couldn't wait to turn her into finger food. Their jaws snapped in response to her trek in front of the iron bars that held them off.

The _Twilight_ clone laughed at her obvious whimper. "Not to worry my tasty little lamb chop. After the Bennett bitch helps Klaus break this curse, we can drain her and anyone else we want. Any _time_ we want." It took everything I had to keep to the shadows instead of slashing through the bones in his neck, which was my first instinct. But I continued looking around for glimpses of those familiar dark curls, making a mental note to rectify that "Bennett bitch" comment at a later date.

I was half a second away from changing my mind about beheading him, when a loud ringing upstairs sent rabid newborns into a frenzy: grabbing their ears and banging their heads against the metal bars. The ones who were free dodged one another as they raced up the steps, giving me a chance to slip into the crowd behind them. As soon as we reached the second floor, two things dawned on me. Number one, Sam was never going to find the alpha's heart if he kept looking in the field across the street. Because two, it was lying in a jar behind a web of laser alarms; alarms that Green Eyes had broken through in order to smuggle it out of here. The beating heart fell to the ground, mixing thousands of tiny glass shards into the salt circle surrounding her feet. She'd drawn it large enough for three just the way I'd taught her one night back when she was just a kid I wanted to keep safe.

The first vampire to fly at her was met with a two by four to the chest. His lifeless body was kicked out of the way by another blood sucker who met a similar fate within a matter of seconds. Before I could reach for either weapon, the entire floor flooded with undead dicks, all of whom wanted a piece of the green eyed woman whose height barely even exceeded chin level. And she had come to deliver.

I'll admit, watching her split bone from skin, set fire to the remains, and then move on her next attacker nearly a hundred times in a row briefly took my mind off the danger that we faced and on to a place where her determined grunts lifted into something louder, more erotic with my name mixed into the middle. Her clothes clinging tightly to her bloody, sweat-drenched skin was probably the hottest thing I'd seen since waking up next to her last week, and I would have decked Sam for pulling me back if it hadn't been for the blanket of terror on the kid's face. He looked as if he had just gone twelve rounds with Death. And lost. "What are you doing in he—"

"I couldn't find the heart. I combed the entire field with the EMF but it wasn't there, so I came to tell you to grab Bonnie and get out but before it's too late, but…I am so sorry." I turned around to find the reason for his apology falling to her knees in a room full of dead vampires, white eyes crying tears of blood that mixed with the stream flowing from her nose and mouth. In my mind, I went right back to watching the paramedics struggle to shock life back into her small body while I sat traumatized on a cold vinyl chair crying like a three year old on her first day of school. Because feeling sorry for myself was all I could do besides going to Death and pleading for her life myself.

Feeling the wetness on my face in real life snapped me out of the dream, and gave me the strength to step into the circle and catch her before she sank to the ground. All her fight was gone.

"Hey, hey Green Eyes," her eyes rolled back into place at the sound of my voice, "listen to me sweetheart. I'm gonna get you out of here, but you gotta stand up, can you do that for me?"

She didn't seem to understand a word I said. Or rather, she did, but she couldn't figure out how I had gotten here. "Dean, is that you?"

I grabbed onto the sides of her face, forcing her eyes to focus on mine. "Yeah, it's me. I'm gonna take you to Bobby's till you're all rested up. That okay?" Apparently it wasn't. No sooner than I'd lifted her into my arms was she clawing at my chest, begging me to put her back down.

"I can't!" She was regaining some of her strength now, "I can't leave Damon. He-he'll-he'll die in here if I leave, and you—" she broke off to look into my eyes. She seemed to finally notice that I was actually there and not just some reoccurring dream, "you'll die if you stay with me." Tears mixed with the blood caked in the corners of her eyes. "You have to go. Pl…please just…just go before Klaus finds you." She went limp again and would have fallen to the ground had it not been for my tight hold on her, but she didn't care. Her whole body was shaking now, breaking her words and making them catch in her throat.

The lump growing in the pit of my stomach took target practice on my lungs every time she mentioned his name, but the pain in her eyes was really what did me in. Made me realize that she was right. She'd been trying to protect me from the first day we'd met, and as long as I was around, she'd always be looking over my shoulder, choosing my safety over hers every time. But it wasn't enough for her. Because she and the vampire would always be a package deal. And the sooner I realized that, the easier it would be to leave that package on her doorstep with a note signed "I'm sorry" when this was all over.

Until then, I smoothed down her hair and whispered whatever lies would get her out of the door faster. "Sam'll stay behind and get him out. Now let's get a move on—"

"And deny me the opportunity to commend her efforts? Now that would just be rude seeing as how impressed with her talents I am. They far exceed those of any witch that I have ever known." From the corner of my eye, I could see the dark skinned man with the long fingernails, bald head, and black suit known as Klaus strolling into the room with Ivy League on his arm. She didn't look the least bit bothered by the fact that he'd just insulted her. "The way you so dexterously slaughtered my children…" he smiled in appreciation. "…truly remarkable!"

"So that's your angle? You let all your illegitimate seeds tire her out first, then swoop in after she ganks 'em?" I instinctively reached for the machete.

"If I recall correctly, Dean, you were one of my 'illegitimate seeds' for a time as well. But yes, unfortunately, in order to spawn a truly evil child of darkness, certain sacrifices must be made. Just ask your brother." Sam flinched beside me the way he did every time someone mentioned mom's deal. Klaus's death couldn't come fast enough.

Ivy League detached herself from his arm and disappeared behind the black velvet curtain in front of us. "Now come along, Ms. Bennett." His long yellow fingernails curled upward as he held out his hand for her to take, "The eclipse will only last for a little while longer, and I believe that we have a ritual to which we must tend."

Spit slapped the side of Baldie's cheek. "I will _never_ work with you!" Her body was growing hotter in my hands as her anger sparked fire around the room that was instantly diminished when he pulled the curtain back to display an entire wall of glass that looked out over the eclipse. The moon was shifting a little, letting more sunlight through. But that wasn't what had caught Green Eyes' attention. There, dangling from a rope in the low ceiling was Leather Jacket: bruised, bloody, and barely conscious as he hung from his wrists, piñata style.

He screamed when the sun hit his skin. And then again, when he noticed us standing there, watching him. "Get her out of here! Do that, hunter, and all is forgiven. Please!" The poor bastard was praying so hard, it was hard not to feel sorry for him. Almost.

Meanwhile, Sam kept one eye trained to Ivy League, who unveiled a chained up werewolf from her place at a candlelit alter. The effect made the whole damn place look like a mausoleum. She held Green Eyes' jar above a wooden bowl. "A vampire. A werewolf. And now, we have the blood of the doppelganger." As soon as the liquid hit the bowl, fire shot around its edges. Ivy League bit her lip happily, her husky voice filled with victory, "It's ready." I couldn't help noticing that Sam's other eye lay on the heart, still beating beside our feet.

"This is your last chance to join me willingly, Ms. Bennett. Please understand that I will not take "no" for an answer this time. You _will _help me, or else…" he produced a headless chess piece out of thin air—the king—that seemed to mean something to her, judging by the way her breath hitched in response.

She roughly pulled me closer until our lips touched. "Whatever you and Sam do, don't leave the circle." I felt the words vibrate off her skin somehow even though she hadn't said anything, imbedding themselves into my skin whenever she trailed her hands up and down my arms. A second later, she walked up to the alter, averting her eyes from me altogether.

The ritual was a blur of Latin chanting and blood drinking—first from the werewolf, then from Leather Jacket—that I only caught glimpses of from the reflection of the blade moving along Sam's shoulder as he tried to burn the heart. Three matches, two tries with the lighter, and a couple dozen stabs with his switch blade later, the heart was still whole, still beating, and we were running out of time. "Sam, we've got to do something. He's about to drink vampire Bela's blood."

"We've tried everything! Whatever's keeping him alive, this," he pointed to the heart with his blade, "ain't it." Klaus sniffed the bowl in slow motion. We figured that he was waiting for a specific time during the eclipse to drink the steaming mixture, drawing the moment out until the very last second before the moon moved aside for dramatic effect or something. Little did we know, his hesitation wasn't part of the plan. At least not his. Green Eyes' plan, on the other hand, was happening just the way she'd wanted it to.

The enraged alpha threw the bowl to the far side of the room and grabbed a wooden splint. "You deceitful bitch!" He was in her face in seconds, holding her jaw in his hands. "Did you not think that I could smell the Vervain in her blood? Or were you just skeptical of my abilities to keep my word?"

"Not if I keep mine first. I hope you like being some demon's crusty bitch, because I'm sending your ass straight to Hell." I didn't care that she had wanted me to stay in the circle. I wasn't just going to stand there while he snapped her neck. The sharp end of my blade connected with the nape of his neck with a hollow thud. He was gone within seconds, but not because his head was rolling around looking for his body the way I'd meant for it to. No, the real reason he wasn't standing in front of her anymore was because he was busy burying his stake deep within Leather Jacket's stomach in a harsh upward motion. The younger vamp roared in reply, then let his head drop to his chest as if he were dead. And Green Eyes lost it.

Klaus beating heart levitated off the ground at her request, stopping right in front of him. Sam and I watched stupidly with open mouths as she achieved with the blink of an eye what we hadn't even been able to do with a match book and lighter. Little pieces of charred meat rained down around us like demonic party favors. Talk about heartburn.

"Foolish child," Klaus didn't miss a beat. "My life isn't tied to that useless vessel anymore." His bald head tipped back, ushering out the same papery laughter that had christened my new life as a vampire. Green Eyes smiled too, something sinister playing between the crooked twist of her lips.

"I know!" She said. "But it _is_ tied to hers." The laugher dried up immediately. He was quick, but she was much quicker, making following their movements a challenge for anyone not in on their understanding. As far as I could tell, Sam and I weren't the only ones who had been left out of the loop. Ivy League looked back and forth between the two, demanding to know what was going on. She found out a second later when Green Eyes' murky glare settled on the dip in her low cut dress.

"Wha-what's happening?" The Wicked Witch of New Haven clutched at her chest.

"Aortic aneurism." Green Eyes' voice was surprisingly steady for someone who's boyfriend had just taken a wooden stake to the stomach. "It works the same way that a brain aneurism does, but since us witches aren't immortal, you won't heal from it. And neither will he." She was quietly confident, almost cocky, yet her eyes were glazed over with shock like she only had time to deal with one heartache. The grief of losing Salvatore, I knew, would break her once our two supernaturals were dead. Which wasn't much longer.

Baldie shuddered all the way to the ground where he finally combusted into a pile of dust beside the witch formerly known as Ashlynn. It was over. We had won. That's when the crying started.

Pleas for Sam and me to help untie the dying vampire, who still hadn't waken up or healed from his attack, didn't end until the two of them were lying in the back seat of the Impala.

"You sure you don't want me to drive them instead?" Sam took the keys to Leather Jacket's blue shit-mobile from my hands and slid into the black interior, opening the passenger door for the human victim from the lobby. _Did I want him to be the one trying not to meet her eyes in the rearview mirror while the guy she'd chosen him over him lay unconscious in her lap? In the back seat of his friggin' car! No! But then again, I wouldn't have wished something like that on my worst enemy. Hell, I wouldn't have even wished that on Leather Jacket._

"Nah, I'm good. Just take the girl home and make sure this gets locked away in one of Bobby's hex boxes, would ya? I'm gonna stay with Green Eyes till the vamp wakes up." He set the jar of Klaus's ashes in the cup holder between them.

"You sure about that?" The lines forming on his forehead were the tale-tell sign that this conversation was about to turn into a Dr. Phil moment that I couldn't do right now. Not even with a fresh kill under my—okay technically Green Eyes'—belt. "I mean, you sure you're okay with—"

"I said I'm fine! Be back in Mystic Falls by morning, alright?" I was in my car, pulling away before he had time to ask any more questions, eyes straining against the glare of those murky eyes boring into my rearview mirror.

"Thank you," she mouthed, undoubtedly keeping quiet for his benefit. Behind her, flames engulfed the building where Klaus had once threatened to shove a stake through my gut. I kept my eyes on the fire until there was nothing left but a blazing dot blurring my vision. Still, the sting in my eyes was worth it if it kept me from watching Green Eyes cradle Leather Jacket's head in her lap. Because, unlike the alpha's empty promise, she wasn't just stabbing me in the gut. She was taking the knife and twisting it until I bled out.

_Yeah. Don't mention it. _


	25. GOOD TO YOU

**A/N: **I know I didn't really give anyone a chance to review by updating so fast, but I want get the end up later today. Thank you to **mrs mathis** for your very sincere review. I am glad that you've enjoyed my work enough to give it a second read. And believe me, there will be plenty more from me. You'll get sick of all the updates. Trust me. Ha ha! Also, thank you to **KellyB83 **for adding this story to your favorites. That means a lot. This is the second to last chapter. The end shall be up later today.

**Disclaimer: **The one thing I've come to look forward to on TVD's finales are the epic ending songs from lesser known artists. So I've tried to emulate that using Marianas Trench's "Good to You" as a title song. Look it up if you must. Now let's get on with it, shall we?

GOOD TO YOU

Bonnie's POV

Last night I dreamt. Don't ask me how I was able to slip any thought past the deafening white noise in my head. When Dean first left me, I'd locked myself and all thoughts of him deep within my subconscious where it was nice and warm and nothing could penetrate it; neither the pain of loss nor the anger of Damon's screams. But somehow, throughout all of the restless tossing and turning, I dreamt that Damon was alive. He was as alive as I'd ever seen him and looking for blood in all the wrong places.

I watched as his consumption of entire rows of vodka and tomato juice turned into a few too many to distinguish right from wrong and landed bartenders named Mary lying bloodless on the floor. Town after town the bloodshed never dried. He'd bare his fangs to anyone brave enough to take on the monster and turn that courage into hoarse pleas to a silent savior, laughing all the way.

In other dreams, he'd direct those bloodthirsty fangs at me, silencing my hollow "I'm sorrys" with roars of "I saw you." Then our arguing would give way to silence. Deadly silence and we'd fight like we should have when I'd first thrown us away. He and I would quietly tear each other apart instead of our friends' lives, sneering through jaws that lay temporarily agape like they were cursed. Of course, the blood that swept through my hands would only make the tossing and turning worse until the man circling me in his arms would gruffly nudge me awake, reminding me that only Damon's tangled black hair filled my hands. Not his blood.

It was then that I would peer down at the lifeless vampire whose head lolled on my lap and remember everything about that day's events: staking Rose, weakening Klaus with her blood, finding Damon hanging in the nest, and Dean finding me weak and nearly powerless on the concrete floor. He'd helped me cut Damon down and drove us straight to the boarding house, never letting me go once. Not even when I laid Damon on the couch and refused to leave his side. Evening melted into night and he was still there, dozing off beside me with one boot propped onto the edge of the couch and his arms already crossed just in case Damon woke up and had something to say about it.

The leg holding my head rattled as Dean tried to shake it awake. _Leave her, leave her, leave her_ oscillated between the vibrations beneath my head taunting me even from where I'd slid my head high onto his chest. He rested his chin on my scalp and rubbed circles into my hair with his fingertips. _Screw this town. She chose him. Call Sam now _the circles grief was so loud that I had to look to Damon in order to make sure that it hadn't awakened him. It hadn't; he still lay deathly still underneath my fingers with a gaping hole in his stomach that no longer bled but hadn't healed much either. I lifted my gaze away from the myth to stare straight into the eyes of the magic.

"You don't have to stay here with me. I know how uncomfortable this is for you."

His knee picked up its rhythm. "It's only a dead knee, Green Eyes. Just give me four hours of shut-eye and it'll be good as new."

"I meant us lying lie this. With Dam—"

"I know what you meant." A rush of coolness replaced the warmth of his touch when he crossed his arms again.

I shifted to lie on his shoulder instead. "Listen, I know you don't understand my relationship with Damon, and honestly I don't either. One day, we're fighting with each other, the next day we're fighting _for_ each other," my gaze involuntarily fell down to the pale face in my arms, "but until you and Rose came into town, we were all each other had. So thank you," I added, "for helping me get him out of there." Dean was silent for so long I thought he'd fallen asleep, making my urge to trace the curve of his eye lashes against his skin grow into something more persistent than a simple want.

Just when I'd worked up the courage to actually do it, he spoke up, "You're right. I don't understand it." His voice was softer than his words suggested, "But like I told you last week, the vampire is as nuts about you as I am, so watching you die wasn't an option. Only thing me and the bloodsucker ever agreed on," was his afterthought. His hands unfolded once again and landed on the exposed skin of my hip. With that one touch, I felt the eight letter jumble that he couldn't say slowly take up shape in his mind.

"Me too," I whispered as if he had actually said those three little words out loud. He chuckled softly and tucked the blanket that covered Damon and me further around us.

"Get some sleep, Green Eyes," he was already well on his way to R.E.M by the time his head drifted to the arm of the couch, but his fingers still slightly grazed my hip. I thought I'd never get to sleep, yet amazingly I managed to find myself dozing off inside another vision of Damon and me all cried out and staring daggers at the other.

Then there were the dreams that took us to a happier place than bloodshed in bars and bruised lips behind closed doors. And it wasn't so long before I realized the difference between these dreams. The angry visions from earlier were his desires to let his emotions boil over. These new scenes playing over his skin were memories of places that we'd been far too little to call it routine. They were dreams of our vacation last year.

In these memories, Damon was different. The Damon that I had become accustomed to was a dark and gorgeous charmer that you couldn't trust with your life unless you were trusting him to end it. He had a heart that was fierce and loyal, but didn't like for it to show. Not the Damon in this dream though. This Damon was happy and energetic in a way that made him seem younger somehow; more beautiful because good intentions shone in his eyes and colored their normal grey-blue nearly neon.

"Come on Bon Bon, just one picture," he waded in the sand with his camera phone poised high above me. He caught the ankle that I playfully kicked at him, not once minding that it was covered in sand and salt from the ocean. The shutter of the camera snaps wildly, encoding pictures of the man behind the monster sliding from my legs to the waistband of my shorts into the phone's memory. His hands hover over the zipper leading to my blue lace panties. "I'll need something to do while you're molding the future witches of America all day." His tone is sarcastic, but his eyes are pleading. Pleading for pictures of me. Damon had taken plenty of pictures of me that day: shorts unbuttoned, shirt ruched up, blue bra peeking at him from underneath. But he wasn't interested in just any photo shoot. He wanted _Playboy_ styled shots with our clothes splayed across the white sands of Myrtle Beach and the two of us covered in wind and sunrays. It was stupid. It was impulsive. But it was a glimmer of the youth that we'd both had stolen. And when it was over, we let the night engulf us and run its star spangled fingers through our hair.

"Is this what you were like in 1864?" I asked afterward. He said that he wasn't as confident. He was more docile; always begging for approval from a father who granted it to his second born without a single thought to his first. I thought that it was a shame too, because the Damon before me, though hard to chase, was a good catch. A fact that his momentary modesty kept him from admitting even though he could hear conversations of how good he looked while walking wrapping around us in the night air.

"Only for the women of 1864," he winked at the joke. Still I knew that he missed life. He'd embraced being a vampire, but it didn't replace being human. It wasn't a consolation for the things he'd given up: the wisdom that came with aging, the ability to have and nurture children with all the love and adoration that he'd never felt growing up.

"Does it bother you?" His breath was barely above a whisper now, hands ghosting along closed eyes that I now wished I'd kept open; he wasn't usually this nervous. Yet it was hard not to be apprehensive when doubt hung so heavily in the air. _Did_ it bother me that he and I would never be able to be more than a passing fling that should have already flung by then? Elena had, on more than one occasion, cried over the phone that she did not want to give up her life for anyone. Not even for the boy who made her heart sing and her toes curl. Still, by refusing to give in, she was damning herself to a life only half fulfilled. She would have no children with Stefan's sandy blond hair, green eyes, and her olive skin tone. She would never have children as long as she was with Stefan.

But Damon and I weren't Stefan and Elena. We took control. We grabbed impossibilities by the horns and churned them into promise. "No," I answered him truthfully, "it doesn't bother me." I truly believed back then that if things were to ever get serious enough between him and me that children—or lack thereof—became an issue, we would always have options of surrogates and adoptions. If the impossible should ever occur, there was no doubt in my mind that we would parent the green-eyed half-witch daughters that he'd never admit to dreaming of. Then, Klaus came along.

I woke up to the feeling of an empty heart and even emptier arms, because Damon was no longer dying in them. Somewhere, I hoped that the pictures of us were still etched onto his memory card so that I could plant them in the roots of my mind and watch their stems grow strong and healthy in a world where there were no deluded Originals to take it all away.

"He got up about an hour ago. You sleep well?" the scratchy voice coming from the large wooden door reminded me that I was back at the boarding house. Sun filtered in through the heavy curtains, spotlighting Dean's haste to pack his weapons inside his duffle bag. I watched him through a curtain of unshed tears. It seemed that the only time I was able to watch him anymore was when I was watching him leave. This was why I hated mornings.

"Is he ok—"

"He's still really sore," Stefan's voice wafted down from the staircase that he was descending. _When had Stefan gotten free of my spell?_ "Klaus must have been torturing him the entire time. Damon had more knife wounds along his chest. The one to his stomach was for your benefit though. Rose is up there tending to him now." Stefan was directly in front of me now on the coffee table. "How did you know that the key to killing Klaus could be found in his witch's death?"

I sat there watching Dean pack away his belongings. Not a word had been spoken between us since I had awakened and he asked me if I'd slept okay. I hadn't replied, because he already knew my answer. It went without saying. For the first time since we'd come back to the boarding house, the reality of what our victory meant sank in. We had won, and now there was nothing that either of us could do to keep the other around.

"I'm not really sure," I absentmindedly answered Stefan's question. "I guess Grams and Emily just pushed me in the right direction."

Stefan sat beside me on the couch and rested his arm around my shoulders. "Speaking of needing a push, Elena and I split up for a while." His confession made me look at him, really look at him. He smiled knowingly at my surprise. "Well it was right after we'd both started classes at Richmond, and it only lasted a week. But after not seeing each other for that long, it had felt like a forever."

"Stefan please. I just fought off the oldest vampire in history. I don't have the strength to do so with another. Especially one who claims to be my best friend." The dull ache in my chest was starting to grip at my temples. I needed an aspirin. Or maybe even some of Damon's scotch.

He went on as if I hadn't even spoken, "I can imagine what not seeing each other after seven years and one week would have done for us. What do you think, Bon? Should someone in that situation tell the other person how she feels?"

"I think that _someone _should stop beating around the bush and just say what the hell is on his mind." I fixed him with an accusing glare.

The arm around my shoulders turned my body in the direction of the man at the door. "Okay, well then how about this: if you don't tell him how you feel, I will." Together, Stefan and I watched the muscles in Dean's back clench through his shirt while I tried to convince myself that all I wanted from him was the pleasure of admiring this view while it lasted. After all, I was still with…No one. A car horn honked somewhere close by.

"Well Sam's here so…I guess this is it." The crooked grin never fully made it into place. It was just like me out of place and indefinable. Damon had nearly been killed because of me, and even the week before Klaus had taken him, I couldn't really call what we'd had a healthy cohabitation. It was more like hostage by guilt and revenge. Now, I couldn't imagine he'd want anything more to do with me. And the one who did couldn't do anything about it. I was, for the first time in my life, truly and completely…alone.

"I'll walk you out," I told him, refusing to acknowledge the _I'm serious__Bonnie_ look on the younger Salvatore's face.

Every slap of his footsteps, every hitch in his shoulders, put me in the sad state of wanting to break down before him. And this time, there was no room in my heart for pride to get in the way of the pain that I was feeling. I wanted him to see it, to catch a glimpse of the miserable, screwed up, dilapidated, aggravated, and completely frustrated fool that I was only one more tire squeal away from turning into. And it wasn't as if I couldn't face life without him. After all, I had lived seventeen carefree years without ever knowing the sight of my reflection in his eyes. The lilt of his voice wrapped around my name. Or the lick of his fingertips pressed against the small of my back as his tongue dipped lower and did the same. But watching him walk away hurt in a way that was well past excruciating, because I knew that he would feel this way about someone else at some other time. He'd put his hands on the door handle of his car just like he was doing now, and drive straight into someone else's heart, forgetting all about the one that would always be his for the taking. _Would she appreciate him_? I wondered as Sam threw their duffle bags into the backseat. _Would she realize that there was someone else out there who could wrap herself in his hero complex to warm her lonely bed facilitated by his nights on the road if she couldn't? Would she know how lucky she was?_ These are the thoughts that crossed my mind at the sight of him reaching for his keys to unlock the door.

I'd never gotten to feel this way before. I thought that had been robbed, and last week, I had even told him never to come back. Still, I hadn't expected for him to keep that promise. I should have. I should have known that this was the one promise that he would have no problem keeping; the fear of me getting killed while he fought for us was written all over his face. And I understood his fear. I really did. I just…it just seemed as if he were giving up so easily. I guess I just thought that after everything we'd been through, he'd have tried harder.

When I grabbed his arm, he didn't seem the least bit surprised. I suppose we both knew that the sad goodbye was coming, and we expected the excuses to fly once again like, "This is my job. It's not you. I'll miss you…" but the speech that tumbled out in its place was a surprise to both of us. "You're leaving for you." I told him.

"Excuse me?"

"You're leaving for you," I repeated, "because you're still afraid that the things you fight may come after me if you stick around."

"Uh, Green Eyes…" his eyes were focused on something behind me, but I went on anyway.

"But guess what?" I was jabbing him in the chest with my finger now, "I'm a big girl."

"Hey, Green Ey—"

Once again, I ignored his attempt to interject, "There will always be threats! So if you leave, then you're leaving for you, because in case you haven't noticed, I can take care of myself."

"You done now?" Now the grin was in place, and between the sardonic crinkle in his eyes and the fingers looped into my jeans all I could do was shake my head yes. He turned to his brother then, voice thick with barely hidden amusement, "Hey Sam, clear out the backseat! Green Eyes thinks she wants to join us." All I could do was stand there and gape. Completely speechless while he nudged his head at something behind me. The smile faded a little as he announced his retreat. "I'll be waiting by the car."

I turned to find Damon walking stiffly toward me with the help of an old umbrella that he was currently using as a cane. When he was close enough to meet me face to face, he threw the umbrella scornfully into a nearby bush and leaned against his car, doing a very painful imitation of Dean's stance. "I want to talk to you. " His eyes were blue icicles that threatened to stab the man behind me.

"Thought all was forgiven, vampire?" The question was as unaffected as one could get without flat out yawning during the phrase. Like he didn't believe it either.

Damon settled his eyes onto me in mid roll. "I was talking to Judgie here." His gaze on me wasn't much better, and I knew that no matter how civil he had planned for this conversation to go, there was still a large part of him that wanted to live out his violent dreams, because it was easier than saying what was on his mind.

"Damon, you don't have to say anyth—" the sight of his palm stopped me from trying to put him out of his misery. He said that he had to do this, that he just needed to say it once.

"You went back for me. Even after my complete and total dick move at Barbie's wedding, you still went back for me."

"You would have done the same thing," I found it a little disconcerting how easily this conversation was flowing. Maybe because it felt like that moment at the end of a relationship where both participants decide that they're better off as friends. At least it did until he stepped up and held my face in his hands. Then I felt it, that need that he'd always begged me to admit.

When he smirked, I thought that for just a second, he could read my mind, but then he continued, "No I wouldn't have. Because I never would have opted to save the world like you. I prefer the wild and impulsive approach." Seriousness clouded over in his eyes again as he stroked my cheek. "I appreciate everything that you did for Rose, but now you need to understand something." By this time, Rose and Stefan had joined the Winchesters in witnessing our reunion. They waited, some with mild interest, the others with mild disgust, for him to finish his thought. And I have to admit that even I held my breath for the heart wrenching _I would have let Klaus take you _that never came. "If it had been Barbie in his ridiculous doppelganger scheme, or even Elena, I wouldn't have hesitated to hand them over for you. I love you, Bonnie, and it will _always _be you." I didn't realize that I was crying until my breath caught in my throat. Then again, the gasp could have come from Rose, who sagged a little against Stefan per Damon's confession.

"Me too," I said for the second time in twenty-four hours, hoping that the other man I'd claimed to love hadn't noticed. His tight grip on the steering wheel told me that hope didn't spring eternal in that regard.

"I know," Damon surprisingly wasn't smug about the effect of my words on Dean, "Just like I know I don't deserve you. Not like he does. But if you go off with him, don't come back," His eyes were hard for a second as if issuing a threat. Then they softened. "Because I will not let you go a second time." Every head within the vicinity turned toward him, not daring to believe the vampire in front of me was actually Damon speaking. And it wasn't, because for the first time since he'd let Katherine die, he was speaking with the one thing that everyone but me thought had burned up with her: his heart.

Love. There were a million different ways to say it. And for every different way, there were hundreds of actions that one could choose from to show it. But before I'd met Dean and Damon, I had only known of two types of love: the familial kind that included close friends you couldn't go a week without speaking to and the kind they swear you must be older to understand.

When I was thirteen years old, I had the biggest crush on Tyler. Yes, he was a jerk, but we all knew that it was mainly a trait learned from his father, and even in early adolescence I sought something breakable worth fixing.

"It's love!" Caroline had gushed for me, and even though I wasn't so sure, I also wasn't content with the fact that what I was feeling couldn't possibly be love just because all our dates had to be parent chaperoned.

Of course, they were all right about me and Tyler. The heartbreak that I'd thought I'd felt at thirteen wasn't even a dull ache once my sweet sixteen had rolled around. And by the time I was seventeen, I met a man who taught me what heartache really was. Was I more capable of being in love then because he'd left me as an adult? I didn't think so. Because despite what they all say, love is a lot easier to understand when you're young. Girl meets guy—or whatever variation fits the situation best—, they bond over some insignificant factor such as a mutual love for peach soda, and before you know it, the two are attached at the hip. It's as simple as I. Love. You.

But now I'm older, and the only thing I've learned from love is the fact that even the romantic type can be subcategorized.

What Damon and I had was like an advanced version of what I'd had with Tyler: a mutual understanding that had turned into the real thing over ice cream, scotch, and _Cruel Intentions._ And yes, we had a few scars. After all, you didn't give someone who knew that you were made of glass a mallet and expect for them not to try and break you. It just didn't happen. But what had happened between us was a lighter type of appreciation that came from fully accepting the other. He didn't have to hide his short comings with me, and I never felt as if he wanted me to be something that I wasn't. When we touched, he sent chills down my spine in. Hard and cold, rough and dominating, freezing every worry that I had until I was a shivering pile of reluctant happiness. And it was easy. That's how I'll refer to the kind of love I had with Damon, as easy love.

Yet with Dean, it was crazy from the beginning. Dangerous, untrusting and even our first real conversation had been an accusation. "You drugged me!" That's what he'd said to me. After I summoned him back using an acai summoning ritual. He didn't trust, but if you ever got him to accept you, you could believe that he'd fight until the end to protect you. Nothing about it was cooling, and when we kissed there was more heat than I could stand. Cozy and soft like only flames were. That was us. Two parts of a raging fire that only took one trade wind to spiral out of control and get crazy. That's how I'll refer to the kind of love I had with Dean, as crazy love.

So as I looked back and forth between the two men who patiently waited for me to choose, I realized that it wasn't about children, or normalcy, or even love. Because I loved them both. No, my choice boiled down to one and only one thing: who made me the happiest. The only question was who _did_ make happier. The vampire who had enough of me to break my heart? Or the hunter who could rip it out altogether?


	26. BORN TO BE WILD

**A/N: **I almost didn't post this ending. I really didn't, because I knew that I would have to hurt one guy in order to give the other what he wants. In the beginning I was going to have Bonnie die. I figured that that was the only way to be fair. Then a reader sent me a review for _A Million Ways_ that changed my mind. However, as I started writing this story, I changed who I wanted Bonnie B to be with. Adding both boys to the mix confused me so much that I couldn't choose. So wrote two endings. Both a little similar except for a few major details. Then I watched both show's season finales again and picked who I thought deserved to "get the girl" more. So without further ado, I hope that you enjoy the ending of _A Million to One._ Don't forget to read the Author's Note at the bottom.

BORN TO BE WILD

25 Years Later

Darian knocked on the hollow grey door that led to her sister's dorm room. All the way up there, she had fidgeted and chewed her fingernails down to bloody stumps, trying to convince herself that she was excited to see her sister. And honestly, it wasn't a lie. They used to be inseparable, learning how to cook gumbo and prosperity spells with their mother in the kitchen and then helping their father decorate the Christmas tree out in the living room. That was the way they had been for a while: two beautiful young girls who were fortunate enough to have been born to a couple who, unlike many of their friends' parents, were not only still together, but were still just as in love with each other as they were the first moment that they'd met. Yet, as they grew up, they learned to put a type of distance between each other that, if one hadn't known better, he would swear their behavior was subjected to a repeat in history instead of mere chance.

The girls were two years apart, but they might as well have been born in two separate eras. Darian lived by the moral code "You break my heart I'll break your nose and use the scraps to make demon vanquishing potions." She was a wild young woman, and it showed in everything that she was, from the sandy brown mop of long tight curls that showered the girl's shoulders and back to the black combat boots that she wore on a daily basis. Darian was not one to be played with, for even though she was petite with her father's sarcasm, she had her mother's temper to match the short stature that she'd developed from the impish woman. Ironically, this only made her more popular with the young men that she met in her travels. They would take one look at her: cafe au lait skin, long blond-brown curls, tight ripped jeans that hugged her curves in all the right places, signature midriff shirt underneath her snug leather jacket, pouty lips that smirked upward in a consistently naughty way, and green eyes that were so stunningly bright, they almost resembled limes, and fall all over themselves trying to get her into bed. If she hadn't already beat them to the punch and moved on to the next, that is.

Her sister, Samara Marie, on the other hand, was a complete 180 of her younger sister. For one, she was easily four inches taller than the fiery second born and wore her rich chocolate strands long and straight, just like their godmother, Elena Salvatore. Physically, she was the spitting image of her sister, but instead of leather jackets and skin-baring garbs, Samara's taste drifted toward preppy, loose fitting polo shirts tucked into khaki miniskirts. Make no mistake about it, though, Samara wasn't a slouch in the looks department by any stretch of the imagination, as she'd had a serious boyfriend for over two years and more young men lined up to take his place when (or if) they broke up. But what really set them apart were their ideas.

Darian believed in learning from the School of Life, much to her parent's chagrin, and her father would openly call her "Mom's Migraine"—although he would just as often pull her aside and remind her that a mother's headache was a father's pride and joy.— And why not? She was, after all, a carbon copy of him. Samara was a different story. She went through great extremes to please her parents, going to Harvard and enrolling into a pre-law program. It was her way of carrying on the family name, by protecting other children from the evil that lurked in humans the way her parents had literally protected her from the evil that lurked in monsters. But now, the carriers of that name were in trouble, and the law was going to have to wait for Samara Bennett, because Darian needed her in a way that was more than likely going to bend all of the rules.

"Let me get the door," Darian could hear her sister's voice on the other side of the door. _Just great, she's entertaining company. This is going to make what I have to tell her that much harder_, she thought. "Just make yourselves at home, guys." The older girl opened the door slightly to reveal two boys. One of them in particular kept staring at Darian, his freaky amber eyes sizing her up in a way that made her instinctively clench her fist around the potion-laced switchblade inside of her pocket.

"Darian?" It wasn't that Samara didn't recognize the slightly younger girl. She just hadn't seen her in a while. Not since Darian had taken off on the back of that werewolf's motorcycle. Addison Lockwood, was his name, and he was as notorious for inheriting his father's wild streak as he was for having his mother's—their other godmother—wavy blond hair. The two "just needed to get away from all the supernatural shit going on in this damn town," Darian had explained to her infuriated parents once she'd finally returned home. But by then, Samara had already started her first semester at Harvard.

"Yeah, uh" Darian wasn't really the talking type. Slitting throats with her mind she could do, but the whole spilling-her-guts thing, well, that was better left to her mother and sister, "listen is there somewhere else that we can talk, I really need your hel—"

"I haven't seen you in two years, and you're only here now because you want something? Well that's too damn bad, Darian ShaLeah Bennett, because I have guests," she motioned around the room at her boyfriend and his freaky-eyed friend.

Darian looked to where she was indicating and took a step further inside the dorm room. Obviously, this was not going to end well unless she got to the point, "Look Sam, I think that mom and dad are..." she eyed the strange boy again with care before finishing her statement, "in trouble. They went hunting a couple of days ago, and they haven't made it back yet." The words had barely sunk into Samara's understanding before her boyfriend's friend jumped from the bed and yelled.

"Bennett! You led me straight into the trap of the Bennett witches!" His eyes glowed yellow, just like something out of their family's journals and grimoires. Slowly, Samara's boyfriend was forced toward the back of the room, where the yellow-eyed boy continued to send the unsuspecting young man up the wall and onto the ceiling.

"The word 'witch' is a little unsympathetic, don't you think? The Bennett line gets such a bad rap, when in reality, it's our other name that your kind should be more familiar with," Darian said freezing the boy and the yellow-eyed demon before the latter could send the former to a fiery grave in the sky, but making sure to keep the demon's head unfrozen so that he could hear her sister's confession.

"Other name?" The demon croaked, clearly surprised at the sight of Samara reaching into her underwear drawer for the shiny black colt that her father had given to her as a graduation present.

"Afraid so. It's hyphenated though." She narrowed her eyes, causing him to scream in agony at the mentally-induced aneurism that she'd just given him.

"See, up here, on the East coast, they know us as the descendants to the infamous Bennett witch ancestry," Darian stepped closer to her sister, and the product was something short of an eclipse: day and night coming together in a way that could only be described as supernaturally bewitching.

"But everywhere else," Samara aimed the gun between those two golden eyes, "we're known as the Winchester sisters." And then she fired.

THE END

for now…

**A/N:** So by now you all know who she/I chose. That was extremely hard, but luckily, I had amazing readers like you all to make writing this story fun. I am going to miss this and you guys. Especially **TheSouthernScribe**, **Yson**, **mrs mathis**, **KimBraindead**, and anyone else who has helped take this story from a small one shot about a girl who meets a guy in a bar to a 150k+ love triangle. Don't worry though, I have a couple one shots planned for Damon, Bonnie, and Dean. So this won't be the last of me. Subscribe if you want to read those. Now, I'm going to take a much needed break to work on my original novel. Thank you all so much again. I love you all!


	27. Author's Note

**Author's Note**: Want to find out what happened to Damon after Bonnie left Mystic Falls? It's all there in my new one-shot _The Games That Play Us. _You can find it on my profile. Enjoy!


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